In the early hours of day
In the early stages of grief
In the early years of my life

I find myself.
Quietly sitting up in bed, not really asleep, not really awake.
Just quietly staring, quietly passing time.
My fingernails caked with blood from unconscious scratching.
My mind numbed with meaningless songs and sitcoms that don’t make me laugh anymore.
My heart too heavy from everything and nothing.

Sitting upright quiet rooted in fear rooted in absolutely nothing falling asleep waking up nonchalantly from frightening dreams that frighten me but also harden me.

In those raw moments, in those blinding dark nights
I almost crack, I almost cry, I almost beg.
Pleading for this grief to not be mine. Pleading for a release, for a little relief. Pleading to be unloaded.
But I’ll let you in, on a dirty little secret- I’m afraid.

So I bury myself alive, bury myself sick.
all by myself in a silent little room just for me, while everyone
from me.
Leaving me
to quietly contemplate on the paths that were less traveled.


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