but their alarm vanished

I am trying to comfort you.


There are bandages on your fingers and you're telling me you can't write anymore. You are losing control of your body, all of your teeth fell out last night and you were afraid to get out of the elevator. You think that maybe if you had one good night's sleep the circles under your eyes would stop reminding you of the black eye you had just last week. Sometimes you think that the fingers are still gripping your neck, crushing your windpipe, because you look into her eyes and the fear is still there, the fear she has that you were a mistake.


You'd like to think that your existence is more substantial than a narrowly avoided abortion, you'd like to believe that there was a reason why you are afraid of leaving the house and why you are going blind and why you feel so angry that your insides melt from suppressing screams. You are cutting things away; first was the long hair you spent over a year with to remind you that you were losing your mind, then it was your belongings because you realized things need to fit into a suitcase, now it is your sleep and your health and writing and music and school and even the skin off your fingers. You want to keep going like this forever, you want it to end right now.


I've never been able to comfort you.