Last night, I cried so hard
the moon dimmed in pity.
I'm not okay. And I'm tired of making it rhyme just so it sounds pretty enough for people to read. The truth is ugly, even when I try to write it, the paper keeps flinching like it's afraid of what I'll say.
How do I explain to someone that the ghost that haunts me wears my face? That I'm walking around breathing, but I haven't been alive since I turned 16.
I miss myself. Not the person I am now, but the child I used to be before life handed me pain with no return address. I've been breaking so long, even my bones don't recognize each other anymore.
Ever heard your own thoughts scream at you? That's how hard it gets every 3 am. I lie awake listening to the sound of my own breath, wondering how long I can keep pretending it doesn't hurt to exist.
I beg the nights for mercy, "just one good sleep, please." But there's no redemption here. I lost to life, and life lost me. The end.
