Everything nothing

You wonder

If this state of being

Has brought me

All these sudden gains.

You wonder if my

Battle is pretend

And my willingness

To fight is really in vain.

That I’m vain.

A little miss MunchHausen

With her soaplike

Drama hand

Stuck to her forehead

Lying in bed

With everyone

Catering to her

Needs

Saying:

“Are you okay, miss Scarlett?”

Type of

Vain.

This sickness has cost me almost everything.

This sickness is costing me almost everything.

This state of being is costing me everything.

And your words are empty and nothing.

But they hurt.

And they burn.

And they try to cross

Bridges to burn them too.

They slice,

And they scar.

They are forming

Letters

On my forearm.

They break

And not bend

They take the pieces

And throw them away

So they can not mend.

They drown

Lungs filled with water

They strip me titles

Lover, woman,

Writer, friend,

Sister, daughter.

They suffocate

And they cut open

Take my heart

Thrown on the floor

And leave it to the …

Vultures.

Maybe you are vultures.

Waiting for me to break and die

And pick on my bones.

“See, I told you so.”

Or would you believe me then?

That this is not a game?

I want my titles, and not forget

Who it is that I am,

And would you believe me then,

If I die?

Your words are empty. They mean nothing.

But I lie here alone and I lost everything.

I wanted to be something more and I lost everything.

I want to feel sands between my toes and I lost everything.

I just want to walk, and stand, and laugh,

And talk and do everything. I lost everything.

But not your words. Your empty words.

They have come and gone and they mean nothing.

I sometimes kinda wish that you meant nothing

Too. But it is okay that you do.

Even if it hurts,

And you do.

Maybe I did not lose my ability to feel pain.

Maybe that is my…

Not…

Everything.