by Chiara Aime | via

Closing my eyes as the
water streams down my face,
a round knot wont make its
way down my throat.
I swallow and shut my eyes tighter,
‘Don’t cry, don’t cry’.

Repeating words of nonsense
in my head;
black white black black.
Doing things in threes and sixes.
Tapping the wall
one, two, three
tap, tap, tap.

I focus on words and numbers
to relieve myself of this
nonstop cycle of grief.
They say it comes in five stages,
yet I have not experienced any
but anger and denial.
They say it subsides in time,
yet it’s been months
and it still hurts just the same.

I scratch my skin,
scars of the night before, unhealed.
And I yell and scream;
Am I living for you or for myself?
Am I bleeding for you or for myself?

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