Sanctuary [Poetry]

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the unexplainable anxiety won't go away. perhaps if i cut my throat and vomit, would i still need to move?

the cliff i'm holding is an empty disfigured bottle. funny how i can describe the shape of something that isn't there.

my lungs is a chamber of unsteady music, housing thoughtful sighs i couldn't verbally express.

my heart is a loud nuisance, greeting you and asking to be hold but its veins are fragile and mad—one touch and it'll spill crimson flowers travelling down to my wrist.

my wrist is an open eye, stare at it and it'll cry. cut it and it'll smile. cut several times and they'll haunt you.

my head is a castle of demons, catering gazillion of thoughts my lungs failed to receive, where my unheard greetings reside.

my demons is the head itself, the castle is not me. the demons are me. but i wasn't them.