Spilled Ink (Currently undergoing updates.)

dysphori-a:

I
i feel like my life is an illusionist’s trick.
what i see is not what everybody else sees.

II
i see cracks in the mirror,
tiny little hairline fractures that spread slowly through the glass.
when did they get there?
was it when my fingers brushed the surface?
is that how all these shards got stuck in my fingertips,
and shoved down my throat?
is that why the room got so
so
quiet?

III
i see cracks in my skin,
little folds and dips in my reality.
light is shining through the rips in my wrists.
i don’t remember if i always had the sun in my reach.
i only know that instead of streaming crimson,
i am cascading gold
bright enough to blind.

IV
i do not know
what happened to my soul.
i do not know
who stole it from behind my teeth
where i keep it when i am asleep.
i do not know where it went,
but i know it is gone.
i can feel its absence
colouring everything i do.
i can feel an empty void
deep in my gut.

V
and where did
my heart go?
i think it was swallowed,
but i didn’t feel it
with all the razor blades and burnt matches
already in my stomach.
i didn’t feel it
with all the dust in my mouth.
i guess i’ll sit here
and wait for it to come back up.
it always comes back up.

VI
so tell me i’m worth it,
i won’t believe you.
tell me life’s worth living,
i won’t believe you.
i’ll let the emptiness i feed on
rage inside my belly.
i’ll rip my tongue to shreds
and salt what’s left.
i’ll rip my body to shreds
and hope that i find what i lost.