A
A
It's 2AM and my eyes have roamed
every inch of the pastel ceiling before me.
Yes, I've promised myself I'd go to sleep,
maybe four hours ago. But,
is it just me
or is my throat dry as a desert?
Even so,
why does it feel like I'm choking
on your name,
bubbling out of my chest,
like longing laughter before the tears spill.
My wrists sting against the shiny metal.
It screams at me,
telling me of how I stopped
cutting myself
long ago.
I shouldn't be awake.
I shouldn't remember
your sweet promises against my ears,
I shouldn't remember,
how it lulled me into
blissful slumber,
of how it kept me alive and burning.
But I'm awake,
I remember everything.
Even the way you roll
the soft syllables,
gentle breath against my hair.
And it hurts so much because it's been years and I still miss you.