efflorescence

5. desperation

I can't die.

I'm told I don't have that luxury. I don't have that choice. And I certainly don't have the courage.

When your life is stripped of color, meaning, and reason, how do you continue to live for other people? When you no longer live for yourself, how do you stay alive for someone else? When fiction blends into reality, how do you distinguish between the two? When your mind separates from your body, how do you bring it back?

How do I stitch my skin shut across my bones so I don't ever leave myself ever again? How do I soothe my mind and let it know I'm not dreaming? That this is reality, and this is my life.

How am I supposed to appear whole and functional to everyone else around me when I am fraying at the edges, ready to rip apart? 

I'm a broken clock. The numbers aren't where they're supposed to be; the hour hand is now the minute, and the minute is now the hour. Time controls me despite how faulty it is. Despite never giving you the right time of day or night, I still tick and move clockwise. My parts are askew, but I work. The only thing correct about me is the seconds. But how long can a clock that's wrongly put together continue moving forward? I'll stop one day. My minutes and hours will cease, and I will no longer have to be a clock that ticks for someone's own sanity. I'll have mine back. 

I will have that luxury. I will have that choice. I will have the courage.

I will die.