It’s a constant struggle, this immersion in this discomfort, a shadow that never leaves.
Perhaps it’s my fault, but I can’t help it.
Or perhaps it’s my parent’s fault for exposing me to the cold, steady breath down my neck
I don’t understand why its thin, bony hands are comforting while they are shoved down my
throat.
Finding its way to my heart
Squeezing with all of its might and then backing up when I scream from the pain
I crave it’s caress,
But I never want it to crave me
I hate how I am finding comfort in the cold breeze that floats my hair.
Bringing my split ends to the side of my red-stained cheeks
Messing up the same hair I just spent hours styling
I am angry for what feels like a second before all my anger is drowned out
It’s an audacious song
A fraught short whistle
A whistle that constantly ran through my ears,
Making it’s slow way to my humming into my mind
One that I cannot escape,
In my car, I must suffer in agonizing silence
It likes silence
I hate silence
I hate you.

Leave my body,
Leave my brain,
Leave my world.
I don’t understand why,
Why is it that everyone else is comfortable with this spine-chilling phenomenon?
I crave it so badly, but the thought of it caressing my body
And singing my lung’s final song makes me sick.
I need it to want me, but I’m terrified
So tonight, as I lay in my twin-sized bed,
I will feel it’s thin arms caress my waist
And it’s gentle, but rough hands grab my wrists
I am at it’s mercy
I am finally laying with death
And death is caressing me
And I caress death back
Because I don’t want to be scared anymore,