drainage

where is home if u never had one to begin with?

sometimes i try to breathe deeply like the doctors say. i exhale and inhale a slow drawl, and for a second i feel the ash and anxiety making its way out of my rib cage. it always seeps back in though. after a while, you get used to my shaky hands on your collarbones, and you steady me. i never know if it's pity or love. probably neither.

   maybe, you're just trying to keep your knuckles from clenching. letting the fist go like your ma always says. i've decided that we're all selfish in our own ways. and that cliches are stupid. life isn't a roller coaster. it's a horror movie that i sometimes escape. and i die every night but wake up with a sharp breath, and push myself out of bed.
  or, i lay in my misery until ma shakes me out of my pill potion coma. she washes my hair and tells me i need medication that isn't vodka coated teeth.

    and ghosts aren't people, but memories that sink their sick into my sleep. i drink sanguine, and laugh at the shadows that taunt me. they're just bored from being stuck in words of the past, and not being able to eat.
      no one thinks i'm trying. not even me. but i'm tired of doctors that think i'm funny. i want something more than this. i'm going on a plane of existence that doesn't leave, and i'll never come back even when you say you miss me. love isn't real when i'm always putting others before me.

yeah, i'm crazy. but i'll keep telling myself it's for the art, and not because i don't like change. i'm tired of breathing techniques.