Breathe No More
Breathe No More
My fingers tremble and falter at even the simplest of tasks. At times I can scarcely hold a pencil. The room spins as I stand. The dull throb in my head keeps time with my racing pulse. Even during summer months, I am embraced by chill. My body's shaking and tremors keep me awake at night.
I've learned how to make my cuts appear as rashes and accidental welts. I've worn terrycloth wristbands, bracelets, arm warmers, and long sleeves for function beyond their fashion. My resourcefulness is now wasted. My scars and abrasions, I no longer conceal. The marks tell the stories. In my flesh I carve the stories words will never properly tell.
Before long the tooth brush won't be needed. My bare hands do just fine. Obsesophobia, perhaps even borderline bulimia. My sinful cross between lust and gluttony is just another way to evade. I'm vomiting blood and pain.
For months I've cried. Miserable, wretched sobs that choke me. They rob me of my voice and breath. With each tear, my soul is emptied. The worst part? No one can even hear me...
Today is a day much like all the others, but never the less, it's a day of significance. It is the day I choose to die.
For months I've feared that no matter how happy I am for one moment, that's all it is...a moment. Never lasting long enough.
Is it really worth feeling so hallow and empty? Alone, afraid, and detached from everyone, even myself, nearly every day? And then feel whole...but only for moments at at time?
This feeling hasn't gone away. If anything, it's worsened recently.
I first felt the presence of this void about three years ago. Of course, back then I didn't feel it swallowing my entire identity quite the way I feel it is now. This is my desire. To sacrifice these meaningless moments of wholeness, and in turn rid myself of this gaping hole inside of me. The whole I've come to know as the void. My desire to sleep forever, to never feel again, over powers all will to live. My dreams and ambitions are a distant memory. A flame I smothered. I know the fate I've sealed.
I burrow under the covers. My bed's the one place I am safe. Tonight I drift into a dreamless sleep. I am soothed by the twisted pleasure, that this slumber will be my last. Tomorrow I'll breathe no more.
I've learned how to make my cuts appear as rashes and accidental welts. I've worn terrycloth wristbands, bracelets, arm warmers, and long sleeves for function beyond their fashion. My resourcefulness is now wasted. My scars and abrasions, I no longer conceal. The marks tell the stories. In my flesh I carve the stories words will never properly tell.
Before long the tooth brush won't be needed. My bare hands do just fine. Obsesophobia, perhaps even borderline bulimia. My sinful cross between lust and gluttony is just another way to evade. I'm vomiting blood and pain.
For months I've cried. Miserable, wretched sobs that choke me. They rob me of my voice and breath. With each tear, my soul is emptied. The worst part? No one can even hear me...
Today is a day much like all the others, but never the less, it's a day of significance. It is the day I choose to die.
For months I've feared that no matter how happy I am for one moment, that's all it is...a moment. Never lasting long enough.
Is it really worth feeling so hallow and empty? Alone, afraid, and detached from everyone, even myself, nearly every day? And then feel whole...but only for moments at at time?
This feeling hasn't gone away. If anything, it's worsened recently.
I first felt the presence of this void about three years ago. Of course, back then I didn't feel it swallowing my entire identity quite the way I feel it is now. This is my desire. To sacrifice these meaningless moments of wholeness, and in turn rid myself of this gaping hole inside of me. The whole I've come to know as the void. My desire to sleep forever, to never feel again, over powers all will to live. My dreams and ambitions are a distant memory. A flame I smothered. I know the fate I've sealed.
I burrow under the covers. My bed's the one place I am safe. Tonight I drift into a dreamless sleep. I am soothed by the twisted pleasure, that this slumber will be my last. Tomorrow I'll breathe no more.