i saw the laughs and the whimpers in the darkness and i thought how wonderful! it would be
if i were to never be part of happiness, the sadness in my stomach weighing on me like
a vice grip around my neck; unturned magazine pages scattered on the coffee table and sticky fingers licking sighs away.
detached did i act with scribbled paper surrounding me; my arms tucked into pockets only to never emerge again.
i thought i feared you but the only person i fear is me: if i am selfish i am because
i want to be a better person. i have learned to become stronger this way, and the only feeling i feel when i think about you is the feeling of my fists clenching and unclenching and the ghost of your neck around my hands as i drain the life out of you--almost apathetic, even.
my mother told me that i did not cry when i was born and the doctor slapped me to make sure that i would burst into tears in order for my lungs to work properly--for them to open up.
i don't know.
i'm not a doctor.
and now i think that i do not know how to cry or breathe properly, for that matter: my eyes remain steely and my breathing shallow.
