A Revival

Atypical freeflow poem on themes of alienation and identity

This is for you. 

I see you, stepping on your hands to stop them playing with his purple lips. Crushing your garden, scrambling over the roses until thorns tear into your silk thin skin and release pearls full of poison. Because behind the pretty there is always pain. Bruises. Blood dragged up. I've been told intimacy has many forms, all dark red and dirty, needle heads for streetlights that remind her of the bud on the killing machine you call relaxation. When in reality, if that can be said, relaxation is really just an excuse for time wasting. For waiting to die. A clock hand discarded at the bottom as the pendulum swings by. And god did she see things between the space of the door and the frame that cursed her pretty eyes forever. The grip of skin between teeth in doors with no locks. We are all doors with no locks, open and people get in, they break in and its all gone. Its all lost in the moment. How I could almost taste her pale tongue, her murder pills. They enticed me and I swallowed them for salvation, for a split second my consciousness, that has always crushed me released its sharpened claws. But the sensation was back as soon as it had went. Realising I was meant to feel lost and I was open again, lured into a false sense of security, but you tore me off my hinges. And now I am empty.

I thought a smart girl like you would rather happy in her head than paper in her purse but I'm wrong. I can't read you like I used too. You stick to your fake smile and I'll beg the doctor to help me because it hurts so much and he just doesn't listen ! He just won't give me the pills, and by God I need pills to survive. Long white ones and small circular ones, ovular ones I can swallow down like some kind of immortality. They keep me sleeping through the day while I stab myself in the back again and again and again. I remember the look in mothers eyes when all the painkillers disappeared and she looked to me. I need a lifeline to numb my head. 

I've tried to sink. I choked down pills and bound my arms and legs so tight it burnt. I lay face down in the water and saw a wonderful show ! I had the best seats and I saw angels and cars and city rats all married together in a wonderful symphony. It was so perfect I wanted to live. It was so perfect I wanted to carry on watching. But the longer I watched the more painful it got and my lungs burnt like hot glass, lacerating my insides. I felt like my curtains were eyelids, closing on the world. And I kept them closed, all through the day I kept them closed. It seems my eyes are coated in a film that sees only white and black, but struggles to differentiate between the two, so I am always stumbling in spectrums of grey, thinking this is what happiness feels like, thinking that unfamiliarity is they feeling of a happy life. Then I remembered that was just TV so I stopped watching.  now I can only feel and i am afraid, that I am blind to it all.