One. Two. Six. Twelve.
Just one more . . . Just a few more . . .
acidity burns, crawling down.
it's never ending hell in here.
The tattered ribbons of my throat scream, blistering my vocal chords beyond recognition. Vomit chunks- wait! are those pills?- lodge themselves between shreds of flesh.
It doesn't matter anymore.
A mother cries in the distance. Raindrops crash onto the wooden floor outside my bedroom. I pray she doesn't have to clean off the blood.
The lights frays, inserting darkness behind my closing eyes.
"It's not her time!"
I refuse to wake, for I am not dead yet.
I refuse to resurface before my time is nye.
I refuse to open my eyes.
If I remain in darkness,
no one can call me out on my bluff.
I wasn't trying to die.
I was just trying to be enough.
The surrounding whiteness is more than blinding- it binds my chest to the floor.
I want to see my mother's eyes.
The knocking ceases at my door and no one steps inside.
I refuse to cry.
Hands reach for me, taking my organs and replacing them with cotton. Dried cement litters my esophagus. Seize me up, and I shall show you just how long it takes for the ribbons to turn to thread.
I refuse to go home.
l-l-l-lights blink above me.
antiseptic perfume clouds the dust.
rain falls onto bedsheets.
Withering thoughts would scramble if they could. She swore to make things better.
The flames and smoke in my gut were put out by the wind they filled my lungs with.
I'm being sent to prison.
A new world will exist, they say.
I pray that they're right,
but I know that they're further away from the truth then any one of them will believe.
They're going to make me see from the new eyes they're giving me.
Handcuffs shaped like pills
Orange jumpsuits made of papery air
They're making me leave my body.
They need someone else to occupy it.
They're making me leave my scars behind me.
It's too bad that they're covering my eyes.