Barely Alive

Her small hand touches the moist fabric of my shirt,

wrapping her arm around me as if she forgot how to comfort me.

I don't blame her.

She's right. We don't know each other anymore

and here I am, unfairly falling apart on her,

on a stranger,

bits and pieces of me falling off like clockwork,

such a tight schedule, yet the more I do, the more I sink,

the more I sink, the tighter my schedule comes

and here I am.

collapsing into a crumpled mess of tiresome honesty,

and she listens to me break,

the sound of my voice just splitting in half to feed the mouths of an angry truth.

and maybe the things I tell myself will make me feel better.

maybe the thought that I could just end it all right now,

gives me some kind of twisted comfort,

because maybe they would finally care.

and maybe it's not even about that anymore.

maybe I'm just falling off the deep end,

walking where the sidewalk ends,

diving off the edge of sanity just to see if I can loop back and start from where everything

just got so fucked up.

I'm running with scissors and she's got a sword,

and I can't fathom why I'm here and she's there.

but I'm trying.

And I'm trying to grab a fistful of wind, yet it always seems to slip past me,

and I'm always trying to climb a rope that's not tied to anything.

I feel society's wrath and how it keeps me barely alive and all I can do is wonder,

where did I go wrong.

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