It was the first time I died with no one to mourn me.
Second, third, fourth. I hold no expectations. I have already realized that it will not matter to anybody regardless of the countless deaths I experienced.
I stood in the same place. I can no longer understand the depth of my pain. I feel older than anyone around me but this childlike rage and loneliness annoyingly persist. It crawls under my wishbone. Perhaps, I have shunned forever when my bones cried, said this ache outlives the love I swallowed, how the lesser deaths always stretch the young so hard, they pull the spines on my back and forget that I ever had wings. I cannot fly my way out of here. I fear I will not be able to draw my face if you ask me to. I stopped looking in the mirror and although sometimes I unconsciously do, I cannot see anything for me to be proud of. My eyes do not form a crescent shape anymore, forcing a smile to cover the weariness I feel all over my body. I find it difficult to function like other normal people do.
I will tell you I have done nothing for years but hate myself for feeling this way. Something pulls at my body’s end—regardless, stretching, after death even—in small fistfuls. I wonder if I have gone cruel and it is probably the case now. I somehow do not wish to admit it. I have stared at the void far too long it started to consume me. All I perceive is I am meant to turn into a skeleton and get eaten by the soil. What is more to expect of someone who never learned the word forgiveness? None. Even if my eyes are open or not, I do not see much difference; it is still purely darkness. I will cease to exist and wither similar to these flowers’ destiny when already neglected. You see, it is fine if you forget me.
I do not deserve to be remembered anyway.
I have lived different lives. I witnessed how it all started and ended. I have loved many things until it seemed I can no longer do. Rather than making me stronger, my traumas turned me hideous. I reek of a smoker’s breath. I hold the worst of love in cherry pits, no calm love to give. I wear sadness as if a second skin, these gathered throats run dry and I throw myself in a momentary sleep.
A day will come where I will not look back. You will witness how these shackles will shatter. The remnants of the past will not haunt me any longer, their footprints will not walk on the same road I take, and the shadows that visit me even in my dreams will disappear.
There I will not hesitate to pass them by.
I used to stumble upon dreams where I was floating as a child, it went higher and higher—the world seemed tinier in my eyes. There were several nights I would have a similar dream when I started to be older, the only difference was the fall that occurred shortly afterwards. It happened so often I no longer remember how I actually felt. One time, I noticed a small crack that made everything crumble and I sank. I never ceased slipping until then.
Hello! I go by the name Alice, under the username @lienric. A graduating senior high school student. I am from Laguna, Philippines. I enjoy doing a lot of things although, I am far from being considered as consistent. Yet I know that we are just trying to survive, and my pets are here to keep me alive. I write when all there is for me to tolerate becomes unbearable, or on some days I think I am a giant with hands I do not recognize.
Pictures used are all mine.