Four words can make your life stop.
Not in the way you want.
My life will stop:
With white scratchy sheets and the burning sensation in your nose from way to much bleach,
my life will begin:
My vitals being checked and the words “it will get better”.
The eyes of loved ones empty and confused, “what did we do wrong” they ask themselves.
Pity and confusion is vibrated through the sterile hospital.
Each tear sounds like thunder as it drops from each eye.
You didn’t succeed.
“Why won’t you take me!”
18 years I’ve crawled into praying:
“God, don’t wake me up tomorrow”
Oh new medication, supplements, exercise and a coloring book that’ll fix me right up!
Can you color auto immune illnesses away? This illness is not like the rest.
A little rest and taking it easy with some soup wont cure it.
Not even the tissues with the magical elves.
You can’t explain your symptoms;
that leads to white tile floor and the burning sensation in your nose from way to much bleach.
72 hours you cannot leave.
I have just learned to leave places I don’t want to be.
I have learned I don’t have anyone to please.
Yet, my lack of motivation and the loss of control of my water ducts doesn’t make people at ease.
Yet, here I am one hand unable to communicate with others.
The other hand a list of suitable coping mechanisms.
Just wrap both around my throat and let me go.
I still want to die!
No doctor I don’t have a plan,
Its hard to create a plan when the only thing you want to do is die.
Those 4 words have created a song in the back of my mind that continues to play.
I have no off switch.
I don’t want to sleep because I know ill wakeup.
It takes to much effort to smoke
I don’t even care to look for a lighter,
My girlfriend joins me in the bed she made. I haven’t showered in 5 days.
No I’m not okay.
I feel like I’m slowly withering away. A chronic disease with physical symptoms that are non-existent.
The only desire is to die.
I wish my demons would come out of my head to play.
I wouldn’t even struggle.
Each day I sleep longer, the chanting gets stronger.
I just want to die.
I still want to die.
Five words vibrating through my shell of a being.
Your eyes look past me confused and full of pity.
“How did we get here?”
My life has stopped, but it will begin:
Medicated in my childhood bed unmade and 3 days without a shower.
Can you color auto immune illness away?
