it’s complicated, you know
removing yourself
from situations
you don’t want to be in
it’s crippling, you know
you’re paralyzed and thinking
how did i get here?
it’s waking up
to pair of lips moving
at your face
targeting
your broken conscience
wondering
if you’ll ever know
how to step away
it’s walking around
a ghost
amongst the living who
hardly notice
you’re walking, dead
you’re running
grasping for the wheel
it’s the car
you’re always driving
slowly, so far away
and moving
from the places that you loved
when you knew how to
it’s silently screaming
at no one
waiting for the headlights
and the sirens to find you
then for a moment
there is a breath and a circle
you are surrounded
by some folks
resembling faded versions
of monsters
once like you
some of them
with brazen audacity
tell you that you’re worth it
but you’re not worth it
not yet
from somewhere deep within
you know
you musn’t let go
this is the only rope
you know
you musn’t let go
this is the only rope
you have left to hold onto
your very last survival tactic
might be
might be
the weathered faces
and cultish phrases
of a group whose words
and looks
and foreign affections
make you grimace
with hidden eye rolls
in the back of your head
and you’re afraid
not ready for the mirror but
it comes anyway
reality is showing you
an ugly face
you see it and it is ugly
right in front of
and behind you
it’s not a story anymore
it’s the nightmare
you keep escaping to
instead of running away from
because
once upon a time
there was a needle in your arm
a child inside your womb
an empty pack of smokes
a man who lied to you
and you swear to a god
who isn’t there
that these kind of things
don’t just happen to you
but they did
and they do
you keep waking up
in the same bed
one that isn’t yours
where a drunkard stares
at what you wish
were just your tits
hiding inside your pants
is a wad of cash
that you’ve always known
was never yours
is not like any ever asks anymore, but
how do you explain what has happened to you?
how do you explain what has happened to you?
here comes a second chance
that you won’t take
a thirteenth chance
that you won’t take
do they care or are they
tried, tired, scared?
this is why they’ve left you
in a quiet room
that’s haunting you
holding a head that
hasn’t slept in years
after delusions fade
the shakes begin to break
the limbs start to heal
after hours of telling yourself
you’ll learn to walk again
your conscious mind opens her eyes
and you will never forget
there is a child that will remember
a man who only wanted your sex
a boy who wanted you to live
to tear
to break
to shred alive
your fragmented pathetic life
it’s complicated, you know?
-laura elizabeth blomquist
