Crisis

Suffer,
bleed,
weep

until sanity seems

distant,
fractured,
beyond.

Suffer,
scream
until it’s over,
until I am no more.

Arrows,
wooden stakes
made from splintered words,
they gouge out my heart
in inch-sized pieces
until I am only shadows,
miniature versions
of those pictures
you have in your room,
hidden in boxes
behind walls
of forgetting.

Who was that?
That girl?

I’m not her.

The one who blames others.
Now I just blame myself
for my schizophrenic tendencies,
those mild moments
of identity crisis
where I’m not sure
if I’m me
or her
or someone else.

I just know I’m
shattered,
inhuman,
a shell
walking around
disguised
as a girl,

and you are
imaginary,

ghostly lines
embedded
in my skin

while he is a demon
hovering in my insides,
blacking out all joy
and leading me towards oblivion.

~Patience

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