Am I Being Born, Or Am I Dying?

 

sometimes it's hard to tell. this
feeling inside of me, quivering,
shaking, anxious, afraid, none of
those words really fit. or all of
them do, all mixed together.

keep breathing, count the beats of
a heart still shattered and only
mended here and there. vital pieces
still missing. did i lose them, or
is it just that they're still buried
in rubble at my feet?

i trace the scar on my left wrist and
wonder what it really means. loud voice
in my head, not my voice, screams NO! over
and over and i can't say what question it
answers. die? live? hold on for one more
day, which turns into another one more day.
and another one more day is lived.

there was a time when i counted my life in
seconds. get through this one, get through
that one. ended up being a year made of
seconds that i lived through one by one.

i get lost some nights and wander the net
seeking the things i lost. the things that
were stolen from me. the things i don't feel
able to live without. i take too many pills
and smoke too much and die some inside and
i don't know, really, if i'm peeling away
parts of me or if they are being stripped from
me by something greater than myself.

i only know this:

it hurts some days to be alive. it hurts so much
that all i can do is sit and stare blankly as i
count the seconds i have lived through.

and this:

i still have hate in my heart and until that is
gone, until i get rid of that negativity, i will
never be a whole person again.

denise

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