On Paper

I sit down to write.

Things aren’t going as planned and my mind is a blur of thoughts.

The past fills my every mental crevice.

Left hand gliding across previously blank pages, I write.

My writing is my sadness put on paper,

My journal is my mind in physical form.

Words began pouring onto the page.

As I write each word, it is my razor blade.

Each comma is a drop of blood on black and white tile

With each ellipsis... I’m holding my breath underwater

Every sentence is a trip to the overpass down the road

And the periods are teardrops falling onto passing cars

My poems are the reasons I shouldn’t live, the letter to my loved ones

Those who inspire me are those who tear me down

My characters are my subconscious

And that moment when I finish releasing every emotion,

That moment when I close my journal after pages of sadness,

My cuts vanish, my breathing returns,

And I walk away from the bridge,

Living for one more day.