One thousand
four hundred
eighty seven days
since my words have felt
... worthy.
Since the words have felt
...clear.
Since the words have felt
...necessary.
I've thought of putting pen to paper
or fingers to keyboard
or phone so many times.
They havent quite felt
...ready.
and as I type them now they still aren't
...enough.
I perpetually find myself here.
It used to heal me.
It used to free me.
It used to feel so constructive
to tear myself to pieces
to move on.
Now it stings.
Now it tears.
One thousand
Four hundred
Eighty
Seven
Reasons to keep giving up.
I'm afraid that this part of me
got left behind.
Im afraid that everything that I used to have to battle this darkness has been lost.
And that now that it creeps in farther
I will be lost again.
And maybe even this time
...completely.
Will he see?
Can he?
My mouth opens,
but the darkness inside
has never ever
let me scream.
But, he saw me
...Once.
One thousand
Four Hundred.
Eighty
Six
Days ago.
Will it be enough to hear these silent screams?
Will he save me before i succumb
to the darkness that has been lurking for all this time waiting for this day to come.
I will always end up here.
And these words
will never quite be enough
for him.
Not even
And especially not on
Day
One thousand
Four hundred
Eighty
Seven
... and counting.
