Sad Poetry

These Days

These days my pillow is more tears and sweat than it is fabric,

These days the bathroom is not a place of cleanliness but a place I can hide as I become unclean,

These days I bear the wounds upon my arms like warrior body paint, and all I want to do is paint one more line,

These days I do not know if I wake up a survivor, or a victim.
I wonder, is it truly strength that drives me out of bed in the morning
Or is it some pathetic hope that this day, today will be different?

I wish I didn't let myself get attached to things so easily.
Like my mother, who left when I was only eight years old,
Or my brother, who ignored me for all of the last year,
Or that one person who will never love me like I love them,
Or the pet I lost this morning, who waited for me to get home to take his last breath,

It's a frightful thing...
to love in a world that death can touch.