fakeing control

October 13, 2009
By Anonymous

[It’s days like this when I

Can’t breathe.]

Why do I feel so worthless, like
The breathe has been squeezed



Instead of feeling [empty]
My chest feels like it’s
Carrying lead.
(And my tired legs are ready to collapse.)

I thought I couldn’t feel
Anymore, but
Last night I dreamt.
For the first time in months
[or was it longer?]
I let my exausted mind wander
Through my field of memories,
Picking up each as if it were

A flower.
And I’m finding myself trapped
In an obsessive tornado, the whirlwind
Picking up speed and

Spinning me until
I purge the thoughts and yearning

I used to try to avoid thoughts
Of my pain.
I would slip down


Into oblivion; once the
Appeared on my wrist, it was

Okay to let myself feel again.
But one night I went too far
And I didn’t come back up.

So after that silent [pain filled]
Night, I hugged with a
Frozen chest, I laughed with a
Dust filled throat,

I cut without knowing why.
The days when I kept control, (how, I couldn’t say)
When I didn’t cut,
I dreamed about it, the nightmares
Forcing my thumbnails to
Scratch across my wrist.
I felt so alone.

[wait. I knew I was alone. I didn’t feel.]

The films replaying over
& Over
& Over in my head
Sent me flying across the floor, my
Body twitching along to the music.
[but where did the music come from, darling?]
Standing on my second story windowsill,
(The breeze causing the curtains to fly inside the room.)

Holding onto the window and looking
Down, tensed to jump;
Yeah, it was proof that I’m crazy.
But the only thing I could prove at that point
Was how much I wanted to feel

And jumping out into the darkness
Seemed like a solution.

I calculated my demise, blueprinting
Out my strategy on notebook paper.
Perhaps is was the curiousity, maybe
The anger that pushed through

The oblivion.
Whatever it was that caused me to
Spring and attack
Was strong, and getting stronger
Every day I still

The scabs upon my wrist
Screamed out their sorrows, pleading
For salvation as I
Ripped them open.
I almost felt sorry for myself when
I lost control, dragging the razor
Behind me as I danced
Passionately across my wrist.

To me, the number of cuts didn’t
Matter at all, neither
Did the people who saw them.
I smiled at the people who didn’t care
About me,
I pushed away and cursed at the people
Who did.
But then, who was I to say who cared?
I said nobody loved me.

So came the night,
Too many cuts
Lined my tired wrists.
I felt [finally] scarred
And totally out of
I felt speechless as I
Watched my hands,
As if they weren’t mine,
Open the window and
Shove the razor in
My pocket.
I came to, realizing
What I had done,
Only as the breeze
Whipped past me and
I had fallen.


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