Jehovah
I'm not sure what to pray for right now. I just know I want to hurt, and I think I want to die. Do you think if I went into EOU or something, they'd give me my meds? Is that why I hurt so bad right now? I haven't been on my medication. I ran out. I really wish I could drive my car into a wall.
These thrashes on my wrist are painful enough... (I guess) but still not enough. I haven't cut in a long time, so I shouldn't... But who would really care?
Nobody, right? Nobody. Right.
I'm sorry, I want to die when you gave me life. I just don't know how to exist while in pain. I know I learned how to. I just can't seem to remember how, lately.
How do I inhale again?
It's like I forgot.
I'm exhausted.
To say that I'm tired, too, would be redundant, huh? But I am. I'm tired.
Why am I such a nuisance? Scratching at my brain, scoffing at my nonesense.
My existence is such an irritation. It's okay. I'm sorry.
I want to keep slapping my wrists. I'm sure a rubber band would have hurt a lot more.
But no one had any.
So, I'm using this bracelet I found. It's a thick plastic. It did its job. It's for breast cancer awareness. Awareness.
Now, I'm numb.
But numbness and sadness and racing thoughts are a suicide's temptation.
I should go buy rubber bands.
They hurt more.
I need it to hurt more.
It's only if I hurt myself could I ever start to heal.
It's only through isolation, I could ever find peace.
It's only through silence, I could ever be heard.
Rubber band.
Where can I find a dang rubber band?
YOU ARE READING
Finding Joy
PoetryI never spent time seeking joy. I only spent time making a bed comfortable enough in sadness to bare it. Now, I'll see and work at finding joy. This is a continuation of "We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human".
