I’m not sitting, not sitting on the ledge (sometimes I wish I am, just to make people realise that not everyone is privileged),
Yet still living, living life on the edge.
Underneath, underneath all these faces,
The makeup, the frontier, the pretense.
What else is there?
I’m happy. I smile from ear to ear. We compliment each other.
Yet the story about the girl who almost died twice,
And almost jumped twice. Has
Never left me.
There is this person inside of me
We’ve known each other for a decade now
She represents everything bad
But also vulnerable, honest, and delicate about me. She reminds me of things like a gentle whisperer
Of things I’ve forgotten amidst this busy, hustling life.
She tells me,
Before I could figure these words out, she says
But forget what? Forget how? Forget why?
She’s slowly, ever so shockingly, bringing me there.
One step closer, yet so far away. But one day closer to peace, perhaps.
If I’m lucky, I’ll get over the mechanisms of this brain.
If I’m not as lucky, I’ll let it go.
If I’m not meant for reflection, then I’ll go.
This sounds damn stupid, but perhaps why all this pain won’t subside no matter what, is to prove to people that headaches don’t always mean stress. Or hormonal imbalance. It could just mean disagreeing with yourself so much that it no longer makes sense. My head hurts.
Prove it, prove you’re so so so sad beyond comprehension.
Kill yourself. End