Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.

The Logical Confession of An Anxious Mess.

Note: This poem is from the perspective of someone having an anxiety attack, so yes it's meant to be presented weirdly and yes, it's meant to be a bit confusing.  Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it! 

- Irony <3

Talking, is the struggle to convince this drought deformed mouth to
produce something meaningful,
But it only works sometimes-

I don't know how I'm going to say-

The next time I see you, I'm going to make myself honest-

Whispers that sitting beside you makes me believe that my
tangled warfare might, just produce something soft-

Not weak- That I could for once allow myself love-

Is the form of drowning where you struggle to breathe outside
of water as much as when your immersed in-

Side someone like me, is always a wreckage being salvaged that I wish wasn't-

there are times when I shatter myself into pieces, because I am
only beautiful when tragic-

ally my shrapnel has been stuck under others fingertips, so they just continue
screaming out in pain-

No person ever asked for details of what they all did-
Clouding up words disguised constantly as the truth-

Is, I am scared that you won't love me during the times the world dictates that
I do not deserve it. That you could look at the painting of me and decide that I
am all one-

Colour ,is just something that fades to grey every time I let anxiety win when
it least deserves to do so-

Sometimes I fall into myself so quickly that no one follows suit to catch me-

I am tragically in denial about my own tragedy, which engulfs me like-

Water falling down icy and threatening, as I embrace the thought that I could
wash away alongside-

You and those god damn hands with the little mole on your knuckle, each finger one
I've somehow managed to fall for at different times, but what I mean to say is-

one day I'm going to clasp my hand in yours as though in prayer ignoring the fact-

I would burn myself alive in the gentle act of keeping you warm.

Countless people have walked away with delicate relics of me that I struggle
to remember the ability of feeling-

Complete revenues, have fractured under poor leadership so my mind is
just battling to keep you with me when I need it the-

Most days I am perplexed and petrified, breathing only because it's what you
would want me to-

Doing this without you is like having a wrecking ball for a heart, and a sheet
of porcelain for a chest and-

I am not beautiful but you are the only one to make me think I could-

Believe that anxiety is the only thing I am good at, and you are the
definition of calm yet somehow-

You are music to the ears of someone who cannot hear a thing and I have fallen
hopelessly in love with the sound-

I, am broken sea glass that's going to scar your fingertips when
you try to touch me,

And I know I am not worth scarring for but this,
is worth every scar I get so-

Take my hand and let's pretend that this carbon monoxide is the sweet
air of that little lake we sat beside, on the very day you told
me there was a hurricane in my throat-

On the very day I drowned like a stone dropped into the depths of your ocean.

Tell me you can hear this catastrophic clarity.

I wish I knew how to let you go,
Yet become something you would undeniably miss.