You call my name
with a tongue sharpened by hope,
your smile refusing to fade
leaving traces wherever you wander.
I collapse to my knees,
the weight of my shoulders
crushing the marrow of me,
yet you remain,
hands steady,
offering a tomorrow
I never dared to touch.
You hold a mirror to my soul,
banishing the shadows
that fasten themselves
to every doubt I carry.
You never ask for anything
but the fragile currency of my time.
How could your birth carve
such a fault line through me?
I am nothing but scars,
echoes of yesterday
repeated until they bleed.
How can I accept your smile,
when I see myself as waste,
a husk,
a ruin?
Yet still,
you gather my yesterdays
and pledge them back to me,
remade,
as though even broken things
can be worthy of light.
This is a poem I wrote when I was having a very bad mental breakdown. I'll I saw in front of me was a knife, but I also felt different slashes and wounds reopening without the blade touching me. Sometimes I feel it calling my every urge regardless of how much I resist. This poem is about how the knife calls and the lie of a life better than this one.
