Death and Other Fun Stuff (#Wattys2015)

Tortured Lifetimes

After weeks

and months

and years and lifetimes

you learn to steel yourself

in the presence of your tormentor, and

bottle up your emotions to save for later.

Don't feel.

You can laugh with them

or glare at the floor or

lash out with a comeback

or walk away. Anything

to keep you alive until the

moment passes and the pinpricks of

fire

fade from your cheeks.

Then wait

till the eyes are averted

till their attention is elsewhere

till you're alone in your usual dark corner.

Then you may cry and scream

and let your emotions rise

to conquer your conscious mind.

Write about it, that helps. Write

stereotypical depression poems.

Attempt to put the agony

of public humiliation into words. But it

won't work. It can't be

captured like you want.

You don't dare say you're a victim.

That will make you sound over dramatic.

But if you are, it's been

five years.

Five years and going? You're not sure.

You like to curl up

and cry tears of self pity

and imagine that if someone found you

they would hug you until you stopped.

But words of comfort make you feel

exceptionally awkward,

and you can't stand hugs anyway.

Tell yourself

you can never face the world again

and tonight's your time to

finally cave in. Let the knife in your closet

call your name gently. Listen close.

But believe me, I know

from experience

you'll find some pointless reason to hang on

and you'll be back at it

the next day

and the next. Weeks pass

months

years

lifetimes