this is what i have warned you about; i know my apologies cascade like a waterfall of regrets off my tongue, until they simmer into a vastness that means nothing to anyone, just noise echoing in an empty world. i never mean to make this about myself but you mean so much to me and my emotions are choking my heart; i literally find it difficult to breathe. the fragments of your shattered heart are in my bloody hands and it feels like a crime, the guilt and pain festers until it is an infected wound. please give me time to heal, to fix, for i am still broken.
celebrating small accomplishments starts to feel like a sin again and i am desperately drowning myself in holy water; praying that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just my train of thoughts desperate to throw me back onto the tracks when i cannot keep track. my lungs are devoid of an athlete’s strength, there’s only so far i can run before the onset of a panic attack, when will it ever be enough, how do you know what’s enough, who do you think you are to know im not trying hard enough, why cant you be like others, an endless string of questions that strangle you with their hook-like curves. the attic you stored your trophy-worthy past is collecting dust and it is choking you; starting to turn into a haunting where the shadows stalk you and the ghost of a better future fades eventually into nothing. because your soul is a wasteland and there is nothing but the remnants of things people used to love.
my train of thought derailed ; the screeching of brakes never stops but it is too late, the lines are breaking, apart. a part of me has been stalled, delayed for ages and how long am i going to wait before fixing the goddamn pieces.
some days i just want to lay on train tracks.
[a/n: in other words i am very frustrated about my lack of complete content.]
you cannot scratch away the feeling that creeps underneath your skin and your head throbs in place of your heart; your organs are shutting down despite desperate calls for help. you cannot reconfigure the mechanisms when there is none to begin with, sleep is just a blanket to shelter you from the harsh reality that is already pounding at your door, you wish it was the grim reaper. every still minute becomes nerve wrecking but your body still sleeps, stays in a coma you wish you didn’t need to wake up from. time is like quicksand swallowing you whole, the guilt consumes you until there is none of you left – only your mouth spitting apologies, choking on the emotions you let your tongue slip.
you don’t want to feel.
you don’t even want to be.
you bury your expectations and set them a thousand feet under the ground. people are reaching for the stars and the child who wanted the moon is now content with street lights for company, a thousand light years from the blinking satellites and airplane lights. santa is not coming, so isn’t the tooth fairy, so isn’t anyone.
i’ve watched you shoot for the stars, only to crash and go up in flames. you’ve always fell short of the stability others own – volatile enough to spark an internal collision, enough to yearn the feeling of being grounded again. the milky way may have been a space too vast to feel like you matter, but you’ve burnt the brightest at some point of time, igniting glowing splints that were on the brink of exhaustion, decimation. there is significance in taking charge of your life, believe it or not, the value in charging forward despite a polarizing world trying to tear you apart is not negligible.
the remnants of your stardust are not enough to fill the crater in hearts you have left behind in your wake; they still seep through tightly clasped palms that refuse to let go. even with some salvation, we still cannot fly to the neverland that you have escaped to in a slumber too sweet. peter pan has abandoned your shadow at every corner, it is haunting me everywhere i turn, everytime you look back.
i apologize for fervently wishing for a temporary solution that holds permanent; because now that there is an eternal solar eclipse, everyone mourns for the loss of light that has once graced their lives. i hope that there are acceptor atoms with open arms for you in alternate universes, with their capacity to accommodate your loneliness that pairs with anxiety; i hope you will never feel delocalized in your own home.
but tonight i wish to trade places, if that would mean minimizing the aftermath, the toll it takes on you and the time taken to break the surface tension that hovers when your name is accidentally spilled, as tears tug at eyes and threaten to do the same.
[singpowrimo prompt 25: write a letter to or about your future self; #GOODBYEWORLDBONUS: make it an obituary, elegy or eulogy.]