L I VI N G

things you hide in the back of your mind

I died.

Someone comes home and sees me laying on the floor in vomit, almost dead.

Someone calls the ambulance, and they take me. Wash my stomach, try to remove the dose i made in my body. But it's too late. Most of it is in my blood, already eating my brain, fingertips that loved to play, throat that sometimes made some sounds, eyes that now were only dead.

Or someone finds me on the ground outside. Probably during a cold night.

Most of my body covered in blood, something's broken, and you barely recognise my face.

Either way they tried to save but it was too late.

And i was watching them rush me in an emergency room, and as they were passing me by i smiled

and

screamed

Praise The Lord that doesn't exist i don't have to walk and breathe again.

My family is crying

She knew all the wrong things i did and they did, yet she didn't know i was that weak,

maybe a bit crazy

and maybe a bit ill in the brain.

She didn't think it would've made a huge drain in my mind because both my parents and her and everyone else in this wicked family was cursed with something and made each other suffer so much. But the difference from them is that i couldn't do it. And no one managed to ask why, and could i do it. Because no one knew what it's like to hear that you're a failure and useless and it's all just in your head.

And she

tried to fix things, but i wasn't her child, and she didn't raise him the way she probably should've.

And sure, he learnt so many things so i wouldn't have the same wicked life, but he didn't know he lost it and made his own child,

the little first baby girl, damage her brain

because he didn't know what it's like to have a monster eating their brain.

So he never listened when his mother said

don't treat a poor girl in this terrible way,

the only response he ever said was - you know nothing about raising a child so fuckin well because all you've ever done was think about yourself.

And honestly,

i agreed,

none of them knew, none of them know,

because no one was here at the end of the day.

And i wouldn't blame them, these scars were supposed to build me an empire and rule the world. But something flipped,

i think i got sick,

and they should've just stopped.

But they never did.

And now i did.

I stopped myself. From hearing those voices that echoed every time one of them shouted when i fell on the ground coughing tears.

she was just ill.

Well. Fuck.

A well raised child.

An angel, a talent, that they claimed useless.

Gone.

And i shouldn't blame them, i wouldn't even if i wanted. I got lost in the dark, i know i had happiness all around, i would've escaped eventually.

But i couldn't make it.

My sister's confused, she's only a child, living with demons she'll recognise when she finally hits that deathly moments.

But she won't understand, and in years she'll ask: "Who is that girl, mommy and daddy, right in this picture, smiling with me?"

And she'd be in shock every time she'd hear "that was your sister, she loved you so much".

Why wasn't she here?

What happened to her?

Eventually, answers would slide in her palms, she'd secretly found out and when they would tell, she'd act all surprised like she never knew.

But none of them would know why did it happen. 

They cry

And a day,

two,

month,

year,

all of them pass by and nothing did change.

A well memory once or twice a year, but then they remember when they clean my spot in the cemetery land.

I sit in my "home" that never was mine, i see as they throw out the bed where i laid.

My things are sold, given to strangers and so.

My room that i shared with my baby sister's now different. It lost the shine i always brought to it. It's empty and boring.

Wait don't take that. That's my guitar, my soul, that's my memories.

I cry as i realise maybe i could've just held on that thing that's now thrown away.

But it's gone.

And i'm fading away

There goes my purpose, hell, i was so dumb.

Oh look, they found out some notes that i wrote. Everything's written with emotion and it's real. 

The people, the doctors see something i hid.

A lot of talent is drowned in a drawer.

My favourite book still smells like it should've.

And then i almost fade away, disappeared as a black soul that's useless.

Because no one mentions the name of a girl that took her own life, she was a weak one and clearly just ill.

The blame was only put on me.

And they made the decision to not talk again because i was isolated from the strong and big family.

I've been sent to hell, some say, i was ill.

A piece of my soul still watches the girl, that sees that they all messed up that one time. She's the only one that will dig down deep and try to see. Why. I. Died.

/August '16/