I wish I can explain to you what I’m going through.
I wish I can sit you down and tell you exactly how I feel, from morning till noon.
I want to tell you how I wake up crying in the morning, and how I go to bed wishing the last action I’ll ever have to do is closing my eyes.
Sometimes, I do not comprehend the fights that I have to put up with. It’s never me against an army,, it is always me against myself. Against my brain and my eyes and the way I tend to perceive all the wrongs done to me.
I, sometimes, wish I can sleep under the concrete and teach my heart to forget to beat.
I wish I can explain to you what I’m going through.

Incomplete Thoughts (Actually)

I try to not mourn the sounds in my head or pay attention to the devil speaking in my head. I try to be a bystander in my own brain roads; a non intervening phantom; a passerby. I never want to make sense of what goes on in my head. I never want to understand why the thoughts are wired the way they are. They’re the same thoughts over and over. The same pain but in an extreme disguise.

I apologize

I want to apologize
For every time I hear your name being called, On TV as I try to silent my body bones. Aching, knocking from the inside. And wishing my life would trade yours.

I want to apologize
For every time I can be out on the streets, Mopping my body against the concrete, Bleeding for a heart that forgets to beat.

I want to apologize
For the things I know but silencing my bones In fear Of fast approaching dreary, is how I’d let  your cells breathe. All the things I can’t do, as my hands are shackled to their feet. They can’t lose us both.

I want to apologize
When I turn on the news and hear your name Being pronounced by foreign tongues Saying your name in syllables you never liked. And I curse the land from which we came.

I want to apologize
Because I sit counting my broken ligaments, documenting your every bruise, picturing your single hair loss catching the floor, being swooped over the stone door.

I want to apologize because the fluids in your body, leaking from your shattered pores, find freedom as you stay, immovable.

I want to apologize, because I aided in crafting your stay. And I painted a picture, that was too vulgar to admit it was the work of my pencil.

That I, escaped, out of pleading for mercy.
That I, ran off to uncertainty
And dragged my wet sand to places made of our sawed lips.
And you send me pictures of your old smiles and I
do not have the nerve to smile back.

Pill Bottle

My depression was never used as an excuse.

I find that hard to lie off as I sip my whiskey and check my 4.0 as I write a paper over due two months ago. My professors say they’ll understand, give me time. Email after the next with jargons in my head; reeking of accommodations and rules. I sip my whiskey and wash off my Xanax and thank God that ADHD is over-diagnosed.

That night I hear “Just put in the effort.” I listen to every normalcy my body is supposed to act in. Knowing that the wires in my brain ticked like a bomb and they were trying to dismantle it. So they electrocuted me.

I never understood why my life was supposed to fit in boxes and descriptions of words that never matched the water that overflowed my heart. I stopped hydrating my pills with water. I asked my doctor if I was overreacting. Wanting my destruction to lead me in a city that was half-ruins.

She started talking about myself in Third-Person. Almost like an unreal fathom that guided me at times of light and kept me in the darkness. She didn’t understand I don’t believe in ghosts. Only myself and the wires my brain signals me to understand.

The ghost is my brain knocking on the sheltered home, asking to be set free. The ghost is my brain knocking on its receiver showing it that this world is so much more than my whiskey shots drowning my lungs. Showing it that this world is so much more than all your boxes and pill prescriptions.