when i knew i was going to lose you, i thought

this is how you lose:

slowly but surely slipping, gently losing your footing

your grip slackening.

certainty is the final blow, a slow cut

across arteries, blades across flesh, bleeding.

“i will lose this”, the last words of all

possibilities as it eke out its last heartbeats

“i will lose this,” the last words of all

that could’ve been as its receding footsteps’

empty echoes bid its final goodbyes

“i will lose this,”: coffee, soda, bottles

all empty and upended and final.

this is how you close a chapter.

this how you end the story:

by losing what you’d rather not, but truth

is a liberating foe, an enemy sworn to your side

binding instead of freeing, yet somehow still

an open cage you’d rather not step out of.

this is how you lose:

in silence, in suppression, in truth.

the end of a streak

Trigger warning: self-harm

I have been clean for almost five months now. Today, I failed.

You never really know the extent of the damage you’ve done until after you’re done doing it. It wasn’t until I was washing the blood away that I’ve realized just what I did. I know it sounds like so cliche, but maybe I’m too much of a mess to be aware. I do not know, to be honest. This isn’t the first time.

Weird thing, though: I do not regret it. I can’t even feel the pain. Maybe later it’ll make itself known. But for now, I feel relief. Jesus fucking Christ, how the fuck did I even learn to cope this way? I’ve been cutting myself since I was 14. It’s been 8 years now and I’m nowhere near getting better. Five months could’ve been my longest streak.

Maybe tomorrow I’d win. Today, I lose.

RELAPSE DAY 1

 
 It begins
 In something as innocent as a song
 Or the way a scene reminds me
 Of another, a lifetime ago.
 It begins
 small
 It begins
 almost unnoticed
 But it begins.
  
 “Journeys end in
 lovers meeting,”
 the beginning
 of yet again another
 journey down the hole – 
 it begins
 though would it be a journey
 if it does not end,
 and no lover awaits me?
  
 It is here again
 The trek through the dark
 blind stumbling
 blades cutting, nails digging
  
 I see light in friends’ hands
 But it has begun
 And the solitude is 
 a                       
 must
  
 The hands of time move
 Painfully s  l  o  w
 Yet I am aware of the
 Speedofmylightburning
  
 A flashpoint, an ignition
 My dreams, my ambition
 My 
 downfall,
 My reclusion.
  
 It begins and it pains
 Me and
 Them and then 
 Some
 It begins
 And I am here again
  
 Journeys end in lovers meeting
 Meetings end in partings.
  
 Isn’t “begin” just another way of saying “being”?