Clean
I say that I'm clean, I say that I'm Okay, I say that I'm fine,
I'm clean but I never don't miss it, not one moment goes by where my hands don't long for the feel of the blade between my fingers, where my skin isn't desperate to be drenched in blood, where my nerves don't crave the pain and burn.
No matter what I do, no matter how many times I rise, no matter how many times I swim and soar, I'm bound to go back into the same rabbit hole, back to the grave I rose from, I'm bound to fall and drown. My attempts to crawl back up are all buried by the weight of all the blunt blades, the candles, the knives I've hidden with every step I've taken,
My unfought battles, my body all in a constant state of war with me, I keep retracing the same wrong path, keep stabbing my heart with the same dagger, as far as I can see the end is never near, I crawl through the infinite loop, still somehow in hopes for an end, but I never reach it do I? I sit there burning my flesh to make light for your arrival but you never come do you? I provoke myself until my limits are long gone, but I never learn, do I? I stitch the cut and confiscate the sword, but I never heal do I? I'm covered in wounds and breathing my last but I never die do I?
Copyright © Celia St. James | Year Posted 2024
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