Funeral Pyre
Your hands have turned to stone and catacombs and you don’t know when exactly but sometime the last of your violets wilted in the hollows of your soul. You’ve got spiderwebs for eyelashes and when they ask you if you’re okay, you smile with brittle bone teeth. Your heart feels unsteady in the way or won’t stop beating.
They keep telling you that this, too, shall pass.
Like tidal waves and hurricanes at night. Like eggshell teeth and broken bones. Almost as if the pain pouring out of your hazel eyes could be fixed by uplifting poetry or a band aid. Your veins fill up with alcohol just waiting for your kidneys to give out so you are not just another suicide story.
The alcohol that fills your body will one day make you burst and everyone who is aware of your silhouette can feel the pit in your stomach and the ache you feel within that you believe will never minimize.
But can’t they hear you screaming in your sleep?
You’re six feet deep in your saltwater oceans, sinking quickly and it all feels like drowning. Didn’t they tell you that breathing in the sea feels like setting your lungs on fire? You’re drowning while everyone around you can breathe.
You’re all howling mouth and no sound, fading quickly. You’re world is gone; lost in a palette of grays. The only color left to see is blood red. And it all feels like a funeral pyre. It all feels like dust, like gone, like oblivion.
You can’t remember the smiles you felt years ago when things were simple. You can help but feel your mind push itself out of your skull because it is to alive and dark to be inside your head. Didn’t they tell you that all you have is yourself? Didn’t they tell you that you will feel angry with things don’t go your way? Didn’t they tell you that even though you have so much to be grateful for you still want to jump off that cliff and land somewhere other than your salt water ocean?
You can scream and you can tear each piece of skin from your body hoping that it will help you but you will just fall deeper in the pit you have tried to crawl out of too many times. So I’m sorry that no “sorry” will make you feel anything but worse. Maybe one day your mind will finally find a way out of your skull and maybe one day someone can say I’m sorry and you won’t feel so awful about what lays in front of you.
But as far as the foreseeable future can show, you know your life will be forever unchanging. You're stuck in an endless spiral of alcohol and fleeting touches that hold no meaning to you anymore.
You’re soul has been ripped from your body and devoured before your own eyes. You were forced to watch as your heart was eaten by a faceless creature, the last of your life lost in the blood, your blood, dripping down its chin.
And the living can never understand your struggle.
They only see the world through hopeful, living eyes, while you are forced to ride through life soulless and lost to humanity. Your eyes are tired, your mind, restless. And still, your pain is hidden behind forced smiles and countless utterances of “I’m fine”. The soulless remain unnoticed, forced to conform to societies normality.
And the living will continue to show no interest in people like you. People who have forgotten how to live.
