these metal chains around my wrists
must make me seem insane
the things I let go of
have blood on them and scratches engraved

but I swear I am holy.
I pray night and day.
anchors hold me when I go feral again.

They gave me these feathers
told me to write something sweet.
my words are the only source of warmth
I‘ll ever feel.

But I miss being held tightly
although I can‘t recall I ever was.
still I mourn closeness so deeply
as if it was something I lost.

they preach that it‘s time
that allegedly heals you
but it just feels pretentious,
they don’t know what I‘ve been through.

letters, poems, novels and sonnets
a million pages in cursive
a million of them haunt me