A council of priests
A naked boy in the street
A murder of crows
Why did you do that?
They may ask, no one really caring –
To run away, he would reply to
No one really listening
From what.
A party of desperation
An orgy of blame
Who did what –
And who’s is the fault.
The boy still running
Naked, in the woods
No one bothers
to give him a sweater
or call an ambulance.
i want to be free
of this phantom body;
i want to be raw
for myself to show.
i am tired,
and i’m sick
and the snowball’s rolling.
i am scared –
let me be.
you may not realise
but my soul has become a vessel
for collecting all the hurtful things you say.
the moment you say them, it absorbs.
it takes them in and there is no way out.
they multiply.
they expand in volume and in time.
they stay there, and they rot.
they become heavy.
they smell bad, and they make me nauseous.
i am cursed to remember every word.
every sob.
every scream.
every pause.
you may think you are hurting
because i am destroying myself,
but you have been destroying me
bit by bit,
word by word,
breath by breath
since the moment you thought you wanted to help me
but forgot to ask me, how.
some silences are deafening
in a way that makes your chest tremble
during sleepless nights and lightless days,
filled with countless what ifs and dying hope –
i miss her.
i’ve told that story
half a dozen times,
maybe more –
about how i saw
my own mother
collapse in front of me
crying
and screaming
like a wounded animal,
because i told her
that
i wanted to live.
i’ve told that story
half a million times,
maybe more –
about how no one
should ever witness
such a mourning
just for trying
to become what they are.
i’ve told that story
half a billion times,
maybe more –
about how building oneself
means you have to burn,
and revive
from the ashes.
i’ve told that story,
and i will say it again –
until no one else
should find themselves
experiencing
such pain,
to create the person
they are after.
something is sitting on my chest this morning –
it won’t let me get up, and it makes my coffee hard to swallow –
i’m trying, but it’s heavy
and stuck above my stomach
it brings me foggy thoughts and
darkens my surroundings
is it the bedsheets? is it your ghost?
if i get rid of it, where does it go?
Depressive Optimist 