Everything Nothing
You wonder
If this state of being
Has brought me
All these sudden gains.
You wonder if my
Battle is pretend
And my willingness
To fight is really in vain.
That I’m vain.
A little miss MunchHausen
With her soaplike
Drama hand
Stuck to her forehead
Lying in bed
With everyone
Catering to her
Needs
Saying:
“Are you okay, miss Scarlett?”
Type of
Vain.
This sickness has cost me almost everything.
This sickness is costing me almost everything.
This state of being is costing me everything.
And your words are empty and nothing.
But they hurt.
And they burn.
And they try to cross
Bridges to burn them too.
They slice,
And they scar.
They are forming
Letters
On my forearm.
They break
And not bend
They take the pieces
And throw them away
So they can not mend.
They drown
Lungs filled with water
They strip me titles
Lover, woman,
Writer, friend,
Sister, daughter.
They suffocate
And they cut open
Take my heart
Thrown on the floor
And leave it to the …
Vultures.
Maybe you are vultures.
Waiting for me to break and die
And pick on my bones.
“See, I told you so.”
Or would you believe me then?
That this is not a game?
I want my titles, and not forget
Who it is that I am,
And would you believe me then,
If I die?
Your words are empty. They mean nothing.
But I lie here alone and I lost everything.
I wanted to be something more and I lost everything.
I want to feel sands between my toes and I lost everything.
I just want to walk, and stand, and laugh,
And talk and do everything. I lost everything.
But not your words. Your empty words.
They have come and gone and they mean nothing.
I sometimes kinda wish that you meant nothing
Too. But it is okay that you do.
Even if it hurts,
And you do.
Maybe I did not lose my ability to feel pain.
Maybe that is my…
Not…
Everything.
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