Insanity

I smile

You can’t hear the choke in my voice

And you ignore the water in my eyes

I tell you it’s rabies, or a stroke

Because I am ashamed

Are you tired of my sickness?

The 3:00 a.m. howling of night terrors

Demons raping the broken bits

Of an already destroyed soul

That one singularity that kept me together

That collapsed me

That hope of a future

I am a poorly rendered image

Of corrupted data

The projection of what

Who this 12 year old boy was supposed to be

Such headaches, focused into my temporal lobes

Trying to break spacetime

All I need is a flux capacitor and 1.21 Gigawatts

Or to succumb to the madness

I was born into this world fighting

Feet first I said i wasn’t ready

Anxiety festered for nine months

My twin, a monster

I ate my twin

They ripped me from the womb

Like that dude that could kill MacBeth

I still don’t want to be now

I could be before, or then

But not now. Not now.

The definition of insanity is ofttimes quoted

As doing the same thing

Expecting different results

I keep living

Expecting to like it.

I don’t.

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A lament

It flutters in the vail of night

When your voice was my heartbeat

My blood thick with memories

Where your arms once wrapped

The pale of anxiety rests comfortably

And though exhaustion gnaws at me

I fight the release

Like a breath too long held

But the scent too savory to exhale

Afterglow long faded

Like a worn 90s black light party

The stains of our love visible

When all light is gone

And silence rings like the clarion bell

I know what I must do.

Stoned.

“I will hold you” I say. Thinking they’ll pull me up from the other side.

They keep me for a time, until that time when they’ve climbed as high as they can… as they want to, with me.

I am the bridge of happiness, forged in grief and despair. I collapse only under the weight of myself, while the burden of others’ fortifies me.

I resent them, after a time. I built this bridge, lustrous, expansive, nigh indestructible.

I resent myself, actually. My flaw is being flawless.

I can carry any weight that is not my own.

I am the stepping stone to happiness.

I will help you find yourself, through happiness or pain. I don’t know how to ask for the same, but I rust away.

Weather worn, I will be a monument to emotional baggage, the envy of airports.

I am the stepping stone. You’re grateful when you need me. And only when you need me.

Clinging.

You’ll have to pull it from my cold, dead fingers. All the vigor of the rigor, the intensity of my loathing still burning in my cold eyes.

I won’t let go.

I had to let go of the hope of not being afraid of my father as a child.

I had to let go of being loved by my family because I was gay.

I had to let go of all the slurs, that now paint my back like an oil slick.

I had to let go of being outcast by my peers in my formative years.

I had to let go of Jeremy breaking my heart.

I had to let go of so many hopes and dreams.

Fuck you. I will not let go. Not of him. Not of the memory of feeling my whole self. I won’t let go. I have nothing else.

I am formed by the voids these things have left in me. If I let go of him, I am afraid, that I’ll finally fade into nothing.

And so I cling. Not to him, but to life. To that feeling of fullness.

You wouldn’t know how empty I feel. The desperation. The dread. You may sympathize, but you’ll never know. You didn’t live my story.

He was my sunshine, and he made me happy when skies were grey. Please don’t take my sunshine away.