I should be dead. For all those times I could see my artery- pulsing. So close, so... Tempting. When I was lying in bed, so far gone, my heart so quiet. I could barely hear it whisper: I swear it was trying to say goodbye. I swear; I should've died, but life's chandelier hung onto its thread. I swung in the balance of life and death. I always thought "what good am I- I don't even know how to die!?" Its true- but there's one thing I know I can do: Survive.
Through all the trouble, I was so blind. My skewed thoughts "self destruct", "you're nothing but failure"-my "stupid" body a casket, carrying a dead soul. Life was my funeral, it should've been long buried. But it occured, for being so close- but ever so far; my poor, blessed body did the most beautiful thing. Most powerful, strong, wondrous thing: it kept on going. If a beaten, broken body can withstand so much; recover so well... Perhaps a bruised mind can too?
