Lukewarm water pools around my once stuttering knee caps
unhesitatingly, with all the grace of spilled wine over an expensive
table cloth
just, as the winter sun begins to draw closer
and closer to the mountain tops.
Here, there’s only two types of music playing,
The snake like hiss of the shower every time I turn
it on and off undecidedly,
and the ever present bustling of the brittle breeze
as it balances it’s force against the windowsill,
Cracked, too, like my confidence.
Your hands are shaking unevenly like two fish caught in a fishers
net. Unsuspecting.
For a moment, any form of indefinite pain is unquestionable.
My back is arched like a question mark over the toilet seat,
Remainders of last night’s dinner pouring out of my shaking
frame like water billowing out of a fountain.
Your voice holds strong under the strain of anxiety as it begs
me to stop forcing my body to endure more of what it isn’t
made for, your warm hands rubbing my spine as it shakes,
strains, and settles after each forthcoming gag.
You tell me that it’s going to be alright.
That this scene could be replaced with laughter and light,
Happiness and every benevolent day dream I could imagine to
ever be the case.
You remind me that this will end, that this can end in mental worlds
and emotional caves.
That people like me don’t remain to be
always lost within themselves.
I kept leaking remorse like an accident,
Like an internal wound,
Like it were the easiest way to let go.
It’s brandished on my battle ground skin-
tender to touch, easy to crumple.
Lifeless under fingertips rimmed with blood,
rimmed with shame.
Sometimes, I love myself just enough to try and
consider what happy could look like.
