☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the kind of place you're trying to escape is the only place you belong

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

these days fall on top of each other, like panes of glass

i can see myself in years past

through every day that came after.

major themes reign, cold fingertips, heavy breathing, snot and tear-ridden hoodie sleeves

i wish i was somewhere else,

somewhere i knew better

this world is so big; yet, i can only imagine myself in two places: here

or back there.

i retrace my footsteps, i relive the days of pacing back and forth in my bedroom

praying for something, anything, to change.

i have come this far, i have no clue how to get back

the road i once walked has vanished in the trees.

this world, this life, its far bigger than i could have imagined. the expanse of the choices we are given on a single day seem overwhelming

on the inside, looking up.

"where do i fit?" i ask, "what must i do to be heard?"

the audience claps, i fear i am a performer at heart.

through the veil of smog, i saw a glimpse into a future well forgotten.

hope was caught for a moment, but like a fish attempting to catch its breath, it leapt from my clutches and returned downstream.

how much more will my heart ache?

when will my best be enough?

i let my mind wander through fairy tales, i lose myself to their fantasy. in this story, i witness myself die

over and over and over again.

sometimes it is from an ancient curse, bestowed upon my lineage for generations; other times i am a beast

that transforms when no one is looking.

my mind runs wild through these yarns, but by dusk my lungs grow heavy and my head falls

like a drooping balloon, tied to my neck with a slipknot.

the question remains, "what do you want to do when you grow up?"

the fear inside me wells,

who will i be once i have grown?

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

just like that, i am back again, cut up into pieces on the bathroom floor. tears stream down my face, i cry out for help. for anything, really. no air comes out, not this time. my neck doesn't seem to connect to my lungs anymore. there's murmuring, just outside the door. my nails scrape against the floor, my arms beaten and bloodied. please, i think as loud as i can, peak under the door, just this once, for me. they walk away, they always do. it all goes dark.

im still not sure how to explain what it feels like to die, although i am sure that is what i did that night. it is not comforting, as some may claim. i saw no light, i was met with no heaven. the only word that comes to mind is fear, that deep, dark pit in your stomach when you have no clue where you are. that paralyzing, loud fear, knowing something, anything needs to be done, and being able to do none of it.

how do i explain to others how i put myself back together, after waking up. after fighting and clawing my way back into my own body, i reconstructed myself bit by bit. the agonizing pain involved in picking up each limb, the sharp air re-entering my lungs for the very first time. how do i explain the urge to carry on, when i knew nothing of my life ahead of me.

i am sure others can tell when they meet my gaze, that something is not quite right. that i am an amalgamation of a life long lost. pieces of me are missing, and the smell of rot never fully washed out. "where do you go?" i am asked. my gaze never fully meets theirs, not any more. i can never stop feeling that fear, the emptiness i felt on the cold tile. that void i know is waiting for me, just a door away.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

i am not so certain anything ever changes. as much as i try and view my life as a story, a journey with twists and turns and transformations, one thing remains. me, scared shitless, with this familiar pit in my stomach. i have stared at carpets, counting each breath for years now. when is it my turn? when will i look at this beautiful life, and not despise it for what it is not, for what i am not? when is it ever enough?

i have forgotten what the wind feels like when one is not shivering. the colors in the sunset all blur together, and somehow i still stare at my sneakers. every night i pray for this feeling to alleviate, and every morning i wake up aching with dread. i would sleep my life away if i could, rotting in the center of my bed is the only tranquility i am accustomed to.

i am trying to untangle the string of fate i see laid before me, but all i seem to do is make it worse, more complicated, shorter. i scan my surroundings and curse myself for not ending it all years ago, i cannot believe how giant it all felt back then. call a second chance what you will, naïvety, deja vu, a mistake.

if i do not move at all, do you even notice im here? am i here, or is activity what defines us? i am sorry i am a bad friend. i am sorry i am a bad son. there is something missing inside me, or perhaps it shriveled up and died long ago. i know i do not deserve your forgiveness, so i will not ask for it. i just hope that you may understand, if even for a moment.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

do you think there's anything after this life? do you think one day i'll wake up and finally feel okay? does that give you comfort in some sick way?

i used to kick my dad when he smoked cigarettes, i used to tell him he was going to die if he kept doing that. late nights and undiagnosed panic attacks, wondering what would happen with me if he were to smoke his last. would i still get weekends with my stepmum, would i get an escape from what awaited me?

i've been having flashbacks to that high school fuzz. it all looks so much prettier, the sunlight hits those empty bottles and it brings me awe. a found family that never gave a shit about me, not too different after all. that poor boy, he could have never imagined this future, and i cant seem to keep it straight. what properties does nostalgia have, and is there a way to harness it for the present?

every day, the same grief. i imagine myself vomiting it all up, that black sludge, the rotten core within me. my love strokes my face, he says he loves every bit of me. i can never bring myself to believe him, because i know the truth about my insides. he grabs me with white knuckles, please stay here. and please, put me first every time, even though i can't accept all this kindness.

i am banking on this being it. i want to fall asleep and for it to be spent. i am not as strong as you think i am.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

on visiting home

i fucking hate mann road. if it weren't so close to my best friend's house, i'd never drive down it again. a graveyard, a ghost town, i wonder what you're up to. why do you suppose i always make the wrong turn leaving and end up back here? is it something calling me, or just muscle memory? if i were to keep going, would you meet me behind the guard rail?

i violently shake when i think about it all for too long. after all this time, i let myself into your home when you're not around. i pace the walls of time, gone and spent, as if they were my own. if these walls are not my own, is anything? are there still some sacred things that we share? please, make it quick, as i am shaking too much to continue.

i want to smell like a funeral, sickly sweet lilies and frankincense. i want to tell people i told you so. above all, i would like to bring some hope to a hopeless self, but i can never seem to muster it. these early summer nights are feeling too close for comfort, it is as though i have said this all before.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

on being diagnosed

i am some dog, this has been made clear. sitting at the train tracks for a passenger that is never stopping here again, i wait still with baited breath. i live off the rush, the way my heart beats faster and my breath hitches when im excited, or when im scared; i know no difference, i can only be trained not to bite.

i keep my memory far from any hands who may want to squash it. i hold it in my mouth, my lips curl when any well-intentioned man tries to take it away. this horrible, rotten feeling, it is all i have some days. do not get closer, let it eat away at my gums until my teeth fall out. how do you suppose i should forget the first time i felt special?

it is roadkill season again, i eye the rabbit on the side of the road. the only difference between this once-living thing and any other pile of garbage is the memory i hold.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

i am sorry. i really am.

i am sorry for spitting when i talk. i am sorry for stuttering when i get nervous. i am sorry i have been doing it so much recently, i just get so scared these days. i am sorry for not answering your question, i was trying to come up with the right words. they never really came to mind, i kept losing track. i have been losing things a lot lately, and i am sorry for that too.

i know i say it too often. i dont know what else to do. the silence between us weighs down, i find the words being pressed from my lungs. i did not even think it, and yet it is out there, hanging in that dead air. you ask what for, and i cannot for the life of me come up with a reason. but there must be one, it is the only thing i am sure of.

i am sorry i am too sentimental. i cant seem to let go of these collected ghosts, remnants of a life i barely can remember. flashes come by now and again, i stare at walls reliving things i cant even recall occuring. it is all too real, when left alone for too long i forget where i am, but i am always staring at walls. white-painted cinder block, the blue living room, crude tapestries hung up by thumbtacks. when will this nightmare end, i ask? when will i finally rid this from inside me?

it's the loneliness, i think, that gets me the worst. i feel myself drawing back again, pulling away when people ask for more. i do not want another friend, i do not want to hurt anyone else. there is a constant ticking noise in my ear, a clock counting down. everything around me could be gone in an instant, and i am hyper-aware. i do not mean to sound cliché, but it hurts to wake up again. i stumble through my apartment looking for a reason, coming up blank day after day.

i am beginning to get scared of myself. i do not mean to snap or bark when spoken to, i do not mean to look like a deer in the headlights most days. i cannot stop feeling the pain, the thing that has been swallowing my chest whole since i could think for myself. i am exhausted. i know i will have to learn to live with the pain, to cope with this monstrous feeling.

it is hard not to feel discouraged most days, if i had the capacity to learn to live with myself, how am i still unsuccessful? i have been trying so hard for so long, and there is no room for a break. every time i mistake a day for good, i am swiftly proven wrong. a snake eats its own tail, and i sit there and i watch. i deserve this, i deserve this, i have deserved all of this.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

i have grown

i can see it in my face

and on my hands

i can hear it in the way i decide

or feel it in the way i move

i wish i could talk to you

through the ouija board hidden under my bed

first i must learn how to apologize without

consuming this empty head with regret

how do i prove that

i have changed for the better

when i still chase that familiar feeling

i started a letter with

'do you know how it feels to die?'

i wish i could stop asking

but the solitude of this memory

is rotting me from the inside

how is one sure that

they are changing for the better

i am more bitter than i remember

apathetic at times i know

i would have stood up for myself

in the past

these days i feel

i know myself too well

i cannot believe the words said to me

time and time again

i know i am alone

that is all there is to it

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

january leaves its mark as usual

i dont feel like a person most days

i must have died long ago

but miraculously my body survived

my eyes roll aimlessly around my skull

unfocused, glazed over

over ten years of this rotten feeling

the pain has not aged a day

i stumble through my apartment two thousand times

ive worn the same shirt every day for three years

where does all this time go?

i have thought my way through life so long

listened to the words i used

until i liked how it sounded

i forgot to feel any of it at all

ten years of praying that tomorrow

when i wake up

i wouldn't be a bit like myself

counting down my heartbeat for hours

today is the day it stops for good

all that is felt is

pure exhaustion

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

which part of my body

seems to attract this much

anger?

has modern medicine advanced to a point

where i can be scanned

from the soles of my feet to the top of my head

will those doctors find exactly where i need

to be gutted?

i beg to be touched

to be admired

to be witnessed

how does one master the art of

being seen

without being torn apart limb

by limb

like a dusty ragdoll

who only remembers a life in the attic?

i wish i could rip out my heart

from my still-beating chest

spit on it

stomp it

eat it myself

and with every bite

comes the taste of creation

i have been born again

all this blood still comes at a cost.

im keeping secrets again

lighting cigarettes

with the only intention of

putting them out

checking my surroundings for escapes

shortcuts

really, anything to pass the time

i ask god for answers

instead he sends me train whistles

damn him to hell.

once more i am left

to play cards with my lonesome

i learned solitaire like i learned about

love

i just sat quietly and watched

no questions,

only observation.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

i have tried running from that

punk-ass kid for years now

clawing my way out of a life

that i thought was sure

but as i sit

still and sober

i understand him more than ever

four walls surround me

unmoving for the first time

i weep over the sadness i have felt

since before i can remember

how do i tell that boy

that i do not wish to die

not anymore

without him flying into a fit of rage

i can see the seams of his skin

fraying off his silhouette

i can still feel where he is bruised and bloodied

underneath my clothes

he did not survive by being kind

he knows no other way

my heart pounds out of my chest

and all i wish

is to offer him some solice

but he's just out of my grasp

please, touch my hand

i say

fingers uncurled and outstretched to no response

he cannot hear me

and even if he could he wouldnt listen

because his stubbornness and selfishness

are the only two things he can rely on

i wish i could have relied on me

how does this suicidal basket case

wish to be saved

i beg

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

its hard to believe that im getting older

when im still as frightened

as i was when i was a boy

but when i look

myself in the eye

i can see the beginning of someone new

a stranger

a life so much bigger

and more capable

than i ever could have imagined

my hands are losing their baby fat

and my cheeks aren't as round as i remember

my teeth have finally settled

and they lay flat against my lip

the shape of my body

i can trace the ghost of who i used to be

and i honor him

in practice and expression

i let the sunlight touch my skin

its hard to believe

it will ever be cold again

some days

its hard to believe

i held my own hand

all this time

its hard to believe

i did this on my own

i mended a torn apart life

gifted to me

against all odds

it feels as though this creature is growing

too fast

too large

too much

and i am afraid

but i have been afraid before

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

"i cant lose you." said with a shaky voice. i know that feeling, the overwhelming burst of exhaustion. youve tried it all. youve been sweet, youve been stern, youve held me and given me space. nothing has changed with me, i am still screaming and shaking on our leather couch. my eyes are gray and hazy, unable to focus on anything. "look at me." you beg. i am unrecognizable. while i know that this episode is just that, an episode, i know that this is far from over. you tell me this will get better, all i can think of is that little kid, banging her head on the walls so her mother will hold her. this and i, we are one in the same. intertwined, how roots become branches. this will never leave me. you say you cant lose me, and i fear you already have. this sickness is taking over, these branches will be bare come winter, and i will be left once more in solitude. maybe that is for the best, me and my lonesome. i don't know how a love like this can let both of us survive unscathed. watch my jaw unhinge as i swallow myself whole, or god forbid i swallow you. leave me here to rot, i beg you.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

when i was three years old, i was petrified of swiper the fox from dora the explorer. i was convinced that when i was asleep, he would come out from the television and swipe me in the middle of the night. each night before bed, i would cry and cry to my parents and beg for them to stay, to watch over me, to keep me safe.

one night, my mother decided to teach me about god. "you put your hands together like this, with your palms towards each other and your fingers to the sky, and you talk to god. he will listen to whatever you have to say, and he will make sure you are safe."

"why does he want to keep me safe?" i asked.

"because he loves you." she responded. i thought that was silly, for i had never met a man named god, and surely you couldn't live in the sky because my cousin told me there was no air up there. my cousin was very smart, he was a year older than me so he knew more. i wondered if he knew about god.

i tried to tell this to my mother, but she didn't want to hear it. "whatever you want to say to me, you can say to god. god doesn't need to go to sleep, but mama does." she pulled my blankets up to my chin, kissed my forehead, and turned off the light.

i talked to god a lot as a kid. i prayed the monsters away, and it worked. i was so relieved to know that there was someone whose job it was to keep me safe, someone who didn't need to wake up early in the morning or tell me that i was wrong about the things i was afraid of.

after i was no longer afraid of swiper, i asked god to make my parents love each other again. i asked him if he could stop them from screaming all the time. i asked him if he could make my grandmother remember my name. i asked him if he could make my mother be nicer to me. i asked him if he could make my dad come back.

i was met with silence, but i persisted.

i asked him how my grandmother was doing, and if he could let her know i missed her very much. i asked him why i was so angry all of the time. i asked him if he could make it so i was never born, and if he loved me so much, why was this the life he gave me?

i was again, met with silence.

i began to go to church every other sunday with my dad. i learned about jesus and the disciples, i learned about mary and joseph, i learned about david and peter and abraham. i asked god, if he could do all that for those random guys, why wouldn't he help me when i asked? what made them so special? why couldn't i be saved too?

i asked him if he could bring people into my life that wanted to be my friend. i asked him to make the kids at school stop making fun of me. i asked him if he could change my body into one that i didn't despise. i asked if he could kill me. i asked that one a lot, actually.

i found myself lost in the imaginings of biblical miracles. when nothing happened, i started to suspect that he had gone. maybe god just did great things to people a long time ago. maybe he just loved them more. or maybe it was my fault, maybe i was the one person god could not (or would not) hear. i tried the one thing i knew would make people listen to me, i yelled. i screamed and i cried at god, i told him i hated him, i told him i didn't need his help, that i could handle it on my own.

once again, i was met with silence. all i wanted was an answer, even if that answer was no. i played the silent treatment with him for years, pretending to pray but just closing my eyes, scoffing when i had to read the bible, saying "oh my god" instead of "oh my gosh," just to get a rise out of him, but none of it worked.

i didn't know what else to do, so i decided to pray. not because i thought it would work or anything, rather to fill the silence in the room. i thought, even if he is not real, if i believe he is, then he is real to me. i no longer prayed and asked for things to change, for that had brought nothing but disappointment, but i prayed to check in. to let him know i was thinking about him. to fill him in on what had changed since the last time we talked. i saw god not as my savior, but as an old friend.

i do not count on god these days. i haven't for a while. i do not try to be a good person to please him, i am a good person because i do good things. i do not look out for miracles, i do not think he meddles too much these days. i do not ask for forgiveness for my sins, he would do the same if he were in my shoes. if only he was not such a coward, staying up in heaven to merely witness all this tragedy.

i do not know why i still believe. i do not know why i still find myself asking god to check for monsters under my bed, or to let my grandmother know i miss her. perhaps it is just nice to think that someone out there, who is bigger and wiser and older than me, could still love me. if there is a something after all of this life, i would like to ask him a few questions. and i will not be angry, i will not beg him for his awesome mercy, we will pour ourselves some tea and i will finally get the answers i deserve. i think then i will finally be the bigger person. i just pray that i am enough.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

smoking area

i am sitting on a slab of concrete outside of an old dive bar. i am trying to slow my breathing, but nothing seems to be working. my hands keep growing shakier and my inhales are beginning to hitch on the knot in my throat. a boy, not too much older than me, steps opens the doors behind me and lights up a cigarette. i take a glance at the brand, marlboro special blends. i think that's cute.

"hiding out?" he asks. his face is soft, his facial hair is short but unkempt.

"yeah," i say. "just trying to catch my breath." my eyes are met by his, dark and wide. i glance back down at my feet, but i can still feel his gaze on me. he is scanning me, trying to pick up on anything that may explain why i am feeling this way. i don't let on.

"i know you're trying to quit," he pulls out one of his cigarettes, flips it around in his left palm, and hands me the filter. "but smoking always helps me. maybe that means something, im not sure." i can tell he really cares, but he hasn't been taught how. i look up at him again, and he is staring at me as if i were on my deathbed. i take a drag from my cigarette and blow it downwind.

"do you ever think that this is just it?" i say after a while.

"what do you mean?"

"like, there's nothing more to any of it. maybe there isn't some great plan for anything, maybe it's just this." i try to conceal the fact that i am wiping tears from my face. the knot in my throat is growing larger and beginning to throb.

"i mean, i guess? but i think it's pretty cool." he says. "i don't think anything matters, which means i should do whatever i want. i can get drunk on a tuesday night and it won't affect humanity one bit. it's freeing, i think." he lights up another cigarette and takes a long drag.

"isn't that so sad?" i say. "don't you want more than this? i wish i could do something big. i wish i meant something to people."

"you do mean something to people."

"you know what i mean."

suddenly, he leans down and hugs me. i am taken aback, my heart begins to race again and my tears grow stronger, but his hold on me does not waver until the tears subside. now we are just two boys, sitting outside this old dive bar. after a while, i can breathe again.

"you know what i do think, though?" he asks.

"what?"

"you're gonna do great things. because you already do good things. and things will be nice for you one day. i just know it."

i think his faith is misplaced, but i allow it. maybe i am on my deathbed, too sick to do anything but sit back and watch. i don't tell him any of this, though. he doesn't deserve me, even if i am just his freak-friend.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

chasing my own tail

with my teeth constantly bared, i love like an old dog. i am nervous, i am reactive, i act out. there is little hope for a man like me. i run away and come right back like a cruel game of fetch, i cannot seem to stop running in circles. in my last days, will i stay stagnant? will you even be able to lay your eyes upon this old hound?

where were my teeth when i needed them most? why must i always flee far too late? the things i have let those i love do to me make me sick, but nothing compares to the way i have treated me. for once, i just wish i had the guts to bite. the strength to say every single thing that has been festering and rotting in my mind for years. if that day comes, i wonder if i will be taken seriously, or merely told to stay down.

my unwavering obedience will be the death of me. i find myself not loved, but owned.

[m0m3nt0-m0r1]

solving the mystery of content

im holding my own hand this time. i think i can do it these days, i just don't quite believe it yet. my heart still beats out of my chest every time my phone buzzes, i still can't shake the anticipation of that other shoe dropping.

i want to throw my phone into a lake, i want to leave without a trace, i want to disappear just like i always knew i would. i feel so stuck, loving people that i never knew, daydreaming about those who i have fabricated in delusion. maybe it will all be different soon, maybe it will all stay the same. a change of scenery will be nice at least. i can't wait to allow myself to be treated the same by countless new faces.

i am hollow, i am a ghost walking through my own life. i haunt myself, the voices don't cease, and i persist. maybe that's it, maybe i just have to keep persisting like this until the earth is caught aflame. maybe when my body is covered in fire i will finally feel the pain i believe i deserve.

but i am trying to be kinder to myself. i treat myself like a little kid, constant reassurance, constant meltdowns and emotions too big for my body. i try to remind myself i am still growing, today i am not the boy i will be tomorrow. i have changed so much this year, no one to show it to, so i show myself. i give myself new music to listen to, i tell myself new stories, i make myself coffee.

i look up at the stars and wonder if anyone is looking along with me. i light a cigarette and it only lights halfway, and i hope someone is thinking about me. i do not think i am unlovable, i just think it's hard to figure out how to love me. i think i am getting better. i just wish i could believe it.