Pain Away.

You weren’t going to see 18.
You’re 19 now.
But what’s chronology
when your concept of time is shrouded
in mist and tears.
Hopes? Fears.

But 20 is a long time
when your days are one and the same,
heavy in hurt, buried in shame.
My mind’s so cloudy – i’ve forgot my name.
I don’t know who I am and I never will be.
Why’s it my illness that defines me?

The final stretch,
a long lonely road.
But you’re running on fumes
that only choke and choke and choke.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t even think
when the silence is so loud, its overbearing.
The bugbear in my head growls and tears.
I’m out of tears.
You’ve reduced me.
I’m a hollowed shell,
nothing of what I used to be.

I give in.

And your head is a void,
null and devoid.
And shadows are knives that caress you.
Like skin.

I’ve fought this battle for so long.

It’s not like I could ever win.