again and again on my knees
broken by those who should help me stand
not sad nor happy in this life
and getting up
again and again
after every fall
more determined to keep standing
more desperate to avoid another
depression doesn´t hurt
it´s beyond limits of sadness
beyond any other feeling known by mam
being alive is too hard
there are easier ways around
why to stand up after fall?
stubbornly holding on worthless things
patiently crying when no one hears
broken pieces glued together
effort testing limits of strength
buying time to find more will
forgetting to smile
what did it feel like
for the last time?
you know that feeling when you’re lying on the ground and all your blood is pouring out and you know you’re slowly dying, but you’ve lost too much blood that you can’t get up, and you don’t even care to do anything about it? that’s me right now. and I’m not sure if what I’m seeing now is a dream or if my life is flashing before my eyes or if it’s something else, but
this is what I see: I’m hunched over the toilet puking my brains out, and a voice tells me the end of the world is coming. somehow I have the energy to run to your house. somehow, before the windows shatter and everything becomes nothing, I grab your hand and this is how we turn to dust.
this is what I see: I barge into your room as you’re taking a toke, and at first you panic, but then you say, “oh, okay. it’s just you.” it’s just me.
this is what I see: the world is spinning. it’s a blur of lights, a carousel of colours. I’m dancing. when I close my eyes, I see myself falling, but keeping my eyes open makes me feel dizzy. I’m confusing the sights I see with opened eyes for the pictures I see with closed eyes. I’m scared to death. I’m crying hysterically. I’m so fucking drunk.
this is what I see: my guts on the footpath. it looks like a picture I sketched last week. it looks like the bruises on my left hip and right cheek. I see a world with no sun but with flashlights blinding me and one hundred faces in my face poking me with sticks and asking me if I’m still alive.
this is what I see: I’m running. the wind is strong enough to push me down to my knees, and running too fast is still not fast enough, so I run until my lungs crumble and I collapse and I cry I cry I cry. I look like I’m drowning in a river but feeling alright. I see myself lying in the grass and I’m inhaling, I’m exhaling. the earth underneath me is breathing with me, and maybe I will not die alone after all.
And when I die,
surely from sin and dirt and living-
Do not bury me in white.
Do not brush my hair and paint my nails.
Do not shine my heels and iron my dress.
Do not speak of me so bittersweetly.
Bury me in lingerie with frayed lace.
Muss my hair and smear my lipstick.
Scuff my boots and rip my tights.
Speak of me with thinly-veiled vehemence.
Do not love me,
when I am dead.
For none did during life,
other than in the glow of a t.v.
that only played to hide the moans.
Do not bury an imposter
and spin tales of a sweet virgin
who died too soon.
Bury a wh.re
and rage that you were not the one
to finally silence her.