Breathe [Collection of Short Stories/Spoken Word]

How are you?

A/N: Decided to add some music. That's what usually helps me write when I'm having trouble. And it kinda makes the poetry more dramatic idk XD

Lots of stuff going on. High school's pounding me, family's coming, suicidal - unpredictable brother. I haven't finished my homework yet because I went to therapy. Haven't finished breathing because of all sorts of possibilities that could happen but never will - wait until my lungs stand still and feel nothing inside of me. Instead, I want to scream. I feel like I'm in a dream.

How am I?

I waste free time complaining to my mother. I spend the time when I could be smiling, and instead I'm trying. It should be easy - they say. However I sink into that demonic possession, ignoring the revisions of what I could have been if I weren't like this. They send a priest to send that demon back into hell, only to find out that Latin words and holy water didn't ring a bell.

How are you?

Don't forgive me when I say sorry, don't forget to breathe, brother. You all want to help me but don't know how, we're all stuck in some ghost town when the real tragedy's far from here. The demons can smell fear. They know that we're here. Don't tell me that I'll do it again, because I know I will. I try my hardest to repent but I know it's not a cure - it's just some sort of lure to hypnotize me into thinking. Tell me brother, why is it that we're both breathing? You can hear faint warnings and threats that were to come if you wouldn't succumb to my actions. For years, despite my hatred, you've grown to think I've made an attraction towards these demons. You think I can cure myself. None of it's the med's. Perhaps I haven't went to bed lately. Actions started from year two. None of it was the school, mother. I don't worship the med's, mother.

We found a clear distinction between that monster two years ago, and me, right here - right now, waiting for my daily intake of holy water to come back. These days, it's hard to keep track. But sooner or later, I know it'll come back. It's not the lack of happiness, it's the lack of understanding, mother.

How am I?

Where to start? Never finished that homework, was busy in group therapy. Friend's in a hospital, when we all knew we could have been there to help. Send help, she said, replaying the memories as she remembers that she's in her hospital bed.

How am I?

Family two feet away from me, and all I see are blurs. Like a holocaust survivor wishing he's got Alzheimer's, I can't recognize my family anymore. Three doors down, and I don't hear anything from you except the ringing and the faint echoes of my own crying. I'm trying, mother.

I'm sorry, mother.

For the monster that I am.