sometimes—
when it's deathly silent and the sound
of your shallow breathing is the only disturbance
in this aforementioned deathly silence and
your thoughts are not screaming, not quite,
because they're forced to remain still, civilized,
hopelessly oppressed—you go outside and think.
you don't break down, and you don’t cry,
and you don't whisper die die die die die die
as you slit a razor across your frail wrists,
because it isn't that sort of sadness—
it doesn't run that deep.
it loiters artfully on the surface, unexpectedly
jumping at you at the freaking ass-crack of dawn,
shouting hey! remember how you're such an
annoying, dumb, simple, unworthy human being
who will probably never be liked or have friends
or accomplish anything noteworthy whatsoever?
well, yup, that's all unbearably, inexorably true,
and i just thought i'd remind you because that
sunrise looks heartbreakingly beautiful and
the cool-but-not-cold air just screams
sadness sadness sadness,
and, well, here i am.
Sadness, at your service!
so you listen to Sadness
because he's only reminding you
of an unbearable, inexorable truth
that cannot be ignored or dismissed—
because Sadness speaks louder than anything else.
but then there are other times where you are drowning—
your lungs have collapsed and the Sadness
is an extraordinary ocean of
incommunicable magnitude.
it strangles you until you feel you might die,
until you feel you might
want to die, and oh,
what a peculiar feeling that is.
(wanting to die, i mean.)
for those of you who do not know, it is everything at once—
it is numbness, it is pain,
it is relief, it is terror,
it is simplicity, it is confusion.
it is gravelly throats and watery eyes
and trembling hands and blaring thoughts and
a silent, resolute decree that gnaws at
whatever hesitations you might've previously harbored:
you've made up your mind. there is no going back now.
as a child, you sometimes found yourself wedged between two desires:
a human, burning desire to shine,
and a warped desire to twist and turn in restless nights,
to encompass as little space as your gangly limbs allow,
to compete with yourself:
how long can you hold your breath?
how long till you pass out?
how long till you
give up?
how long? how long?
give up. give up.
not long now.
