People will never seem to understand why my self destruction was the only time I knew I was alive. The doctors takes your bloods, but I rip open my veins. Look at me, look at me bleeding, I am alive — so why doesn’t it feel like it? I wanted to reach into my chest and feel my heart beat for myself, I wanted to take my lungs out of my chest and let them breathe. I wanted to search my body to find where the pain is located, most days it was my chest — heavy and tight. Bad days it was everywhere — the brain detached itself from the body, the heart beats so fast it cant slow down, the lungs expand to fill the emptiness and the stomach grows angry from the sickness making its way through the body. So how do you really know you’re alive? Is it the pain or the unknowing absence of it? Is it the shear will to self destruct or the inability to?
Loading...
