Breath In, Breath Out

 Breathe in.

If I could tell you everything I thought, would you want to hear it?

If I never left you, would you still be here?

If I told you I come from a broken home, would you believe me or walk away letting me shatter over the pieces of my family like a baseball through a window?

Breathe out.

These simple questions bring on such an anxiety in this little body.

My chest, full of cascading water slowly filling my lungs with every breath.

I should feel alive.

I should feel alive.

Breathe in.

I’m a catastrophic flood, devastating my own ecosystems of love, life, and forgiveness.

What have I done?

I can’t love and live?

I can’t forgive myself, I won’t.

Breathe out.

How many more breaths will I be able to take?

Once I can no longer breathe, what will be left of my once fully functioning body?

Where will I go, or better yet,

What will I be?

Breathe in.

The anxiety is setting in now.

I can feel the water line rising higher and higher in my chest.

Why me; why do I deserve this.

What now?

Breathe out.

I wish that I could set a fire to my soul like you said you would my house.

Effortlessly, painlessly, mindlessly, breathing in smoke that hurts me more than I can hurt myself.

What have I done?

How did I hurt you so bad?

Breathe in.

My lungs hurt, but your words hurt more as I am sitting on my floor trying not to breathe.

Every breath a struggle, as if I was running 600 miles while having an asthma attack.

I’m incapable of continuing my own survival.

There is nothing left of me now.

Breathe out.

I can’t.

Breathe in.

I can’t.

Breathe out.

...

“She’s gone. She’s been gone.”