impermanence

forty-seven.

𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

i killed you in this body
and i took your place,
looking in your face
the whole time
but i still don't even know
who i am
or
who i want to be

life is spinning faster
life is moving too slow,
i cannot stop talking
the words just cannot go

why can't i ever text people
when i need someone to talk to?
i am tired of typing and deleting
messages because i don't think
you'd care to hear
about the pit in my chest at midnight
or the weight of the world in the morning

instead i cry into my pillow
and feel like i'm letting myself go

i want to sleep all through the next week
and wake up feeling less weak,
wake up feeling more like me

i want to stop writing sad poetry
i'm afraid that's all i will ever be

we're all just feeling the same emotions
but using different words
and every feeling i've ever felt has
already been heard
and yet i still feel so detached
like a flat tire, yet to be patched

i'm letting out air
and i'm flying away,
counting down my days

i sink into my bed like
i'm sinking into the ocean,
begging to stay there until
i can feel okay again

the sun is too bright,
streaming through the blinds,
so i just close my eyes
and stay there for the night

a crow caws overhead
and i remember i'm not dead,
and all the anxiety is just in my head

a flat tire
can be fixed, or
made new
again
and i will be fine —
just give me a day or two