the world is made of motion and i am at a standstill with thoughts swirling in a cloud around the edges of my mind and no problems are being solved but i’m only getting dizzier trying to pick out answers from the tornado of chaos. i am afraid of being swept up in the turmoil but i am afraid that if i stand as still as i remain now that i will freeze with the pure coldness of loneliness.
i think it’d be lovely to trim the tips of the sky with lines of lace so that even the storm can seem delicate for once. even terrors have a chance to be beautiful: like the light that filters through glass shards of a bottle on the wooden floor after it shattered from slipping out of the hand of the body that was too drunk to stumble further than the couch cushions of the living room.
i’ll be the shaking shell of a skeleton if you’ll be the sheet of skin that wraps tightly around me and holds in heat so i can continue to count the pulses from my weary heart and the short inhalations that keep the air barely flowing to me. i forgot to tell you that i burst a lung trying too hard to keep breathing so i took the stems of wildflowers and wove them into a proper replacement because living is everything when there’s love supplied by a lover.
i am not covered by unloved scars because when i put each cut there i didn’t realize that it was a desperate attempt to stay alive, to find a way to survive without suicide. and now each is a reminder of a reason to love myself again, of a reason to love the soul that fought so hard for a chance to live in a world with a little less pain.
and although the wish for death will never fade away forever the wish for life will keep on growing stronger and i think that’s what matters after all. just, to breathe.