roses in the wintertime ✓

gone

some days i don't even think about you at all.

i think about the people who have come into my life. whether they were in it for thirteen seconds or over thirteen years.

like that boy that punched me back in fourth grade.

or the guy that accidentally got the blame for it because the teacher couldn't tell where i was pointing to.

oh, and that girl that vowed to visit me after i up and left. yeah, the one that promised to text every night and skype on the weekends. by the way, we never got around to it.

the lanky boy who looked at me so intensely after apologising when he ran into me. the salty water spiked goosebumps up and down my legs. but it was his eyes that made my hairs stand up.

i was on vacation then, and i never saw him again in my life.

and that's the thing.

everyone comes and goes.

i've lost enough people that i get confused when i count. or maybe that just reflects my stupidity.

i don't know what i'm trying to say,

maybe that sometimes i just want to sit in the bathtub and let the water soak my clothes. i want the denim to cling to my shaking legs and let the water run until my grey hoodie turns black.

or that sometimes i want to punch someone just for the sake of it. i want the blood to rush from their nostrils. i want the red fluid to run over my knuckles and taint my already tainted skin.

and that i think about breaking into places i shouldn't be and climb to the very top, even though it's way too high for my liking. i want to sit at the edge, my legs dangling in the nothingness.

i don't really know what i'm trying to say.

but i do know that i want to get out of here. i want to sit in a pitch black room with nothing but moonlight flooding into it.

i want to tuck my hair behind my ear and listen to the genuine laughs of strangers i have never seen in my life.

i want to be able to rip my heart out and still feel alive.

and maybe that's what i'm trying to say.

i want to feel alive

but my eyes that just seem to have no humanity in them, my brown skin that no longer glows from the sun, but glistens from fresh tears, but my chapped lips that denies moisture, my hoarse throat that refuses to speak and my foot that keeps tapping over and over again to count the seconds i have left are clear signs that people cannot just rise from the dead.

and as i sit here

i come to the realisation that i'm just a dead soul in a stubborn body.

kylie szenski