Terrified of breathing, in case of collapse.
Terrified of existing, in case of relapse.
Fearing the voice clawing this brain,
but craving hunger to flood these veins.
Desperate for relief, for a bite or two,
all this hard work I’ll eventually rue.
Still she screams, oh, how she screams,
this parasitic illness destroying my dreams.
Seeking a way out of one’s own mind,
is successful, sure, but leaves memories behind.
A black pit of time marks the sickest years,
leaving a dissociative gap from a time full of fear.
How impossible it is to escape oneself,
envious of the lives mine might have paralleled.
Instead I exist in an ocean of darkness,
a voice for company tainted by harshness.
There’s no light for me here:
and the bones we hold dear.