Tell me why my grip on my purpose always slips. Sometimes it gets too much and I don't know how to handle it. Light comes in through the blinds and blinds me, And I don’t know what defines me. Does it only bother me?

 

 I feel like it bothers other people. I’ll walk by them at the train station and feel their gazes linger. They burn holes into my back, Feels like a cardiac attack, Although i’ve never had one, I bet it’d feel like that. 

 

Is it something that I lack? Or maybe just the opposite, sometimes I ramble on and on until I'm stopped in my tracks... 

 

I’m doing it again. I know I do it quite a lot and I admit that it's a habit, but I don’t know how to stop. 

 

When I finally stop talking, my mind breaks into fragments. Shattered pieces on the floor, I drop to my knees to gather them, but then they pierce my hand and the blood wells on my pointer finger. It seeps through the bandaid, And drips down to the floor. And i’ll stare at the puddle and wonder what it’s for. 

 

Do I bleed for me, or is it for other people. Do I breathe for me, or for the priest at the steeple.

 

 Sometimes I feel like the life I'm living isn’t mine, like I’m watching it at a cinema that only cost a dime, That explains the shitty quality, and why I'm watching it alone, Unless you count the empty cups and the popcorn that was strown. Although I want to stand up and leave the theatre, there's chains on my wrists that are forcing me to linger.

 

 It’s not the shackles that i’m mad at for I placed them there myself, It’s the fact that I’m too proud to even ask for help. Is it stubbornness or pride, Do the two even differ, Is it the feeling of importance or is it my unbending that makes me stiffer. 

 

When you don’t move for a while you become rooted to your place, Just like how if you keep on moving you’ll always win the race. How do I become like that if i’ve been frozen for so long? My muscles are weak, I can barely stand alone, If I reach out to the runner, will they come back and lend a hand, or will they carry on their merry way, teasing “catch me if you can”

 

 I fear the latter strongly, being looked down on while I'm stalling. If I could even part my lips enough to mutter out their name, Is their hearing good enough to hear above the rain? 

 

the rain has washed the blood away, the puddle there no more. In the distance guys play soccer, one of them just scored. I would get up to join them, but if I can’t even open my mouth, how good of a player would I be, I’d make my team go south. 

 

I feel like it would be better handling this alone, Instead of someone guiding me, hitchhiking on the road. I get no closer to my destination, my legs part of the earth, but with all that I have done, i’m no better than the dirt.

 

 What right have I to stand above it, tall and languid with my head tilted upwards, appearing carefree although I know my breathings laboured. 

 

Was I always like this, I’m sure there’s a time were I wasn’t, where I meant something to myself, were I didn’t feel redundant. 

 

I hate how dependent I am. How am I supposed to make it in the world when I can’t make it out of bed, things aren’t nearly as bad as I make them in my head. So why can I never get up, my friends hung out again today, but I remained the same. 

 

Am I not trying hard enough, am I the one to blame, did someone skip my turn again, I wasn’t told about this game. I keep on rolling twos, still stuck in the same place, there’s no one going as slow as my own pace. They roll twelve and skip ahead, leaving me behind, and I would do the same.

 

I do stupid things and say foolish words, my mind not comprehending the people I could hurt. My words spill out faster than I think, I say the wrong things at the wrong time faster than I blink. 

 

My therapist told me to imagine my worries spiral down the sink, but my sink is clogged with clotted blood and fragments of my mind.