“When I’m gone” — A poem

My crippled body potrays a map of places that excruciatingly ache; my lungs are cursed with breaths I’m relentlessly forced to take.

It all begins in my center where my stomach remains sick.. but if I could only choose one problem; it’s my stomach I’d pick.

Deep inside my skull, where my largest misery resides; are aches with and without names, in which my nightmares collide.

The many hands of the wicked, their minds poisoned by hell; delivering their own fantasies, leaving me with stories to tell.

​Fatigued by the static, and the electrical quakes; my seizures are dreams from which I can’t seem to wake.

My future now shattered, I’d prefer a fractured bone; I should be thriving in a career as oppossed to rotting at home.

I exist within a life, far less than mine; whilst my disassociation kills me and I lose track of time.

I gaze into my mirror as a stranger stares back; a voice in my head, resembling a heart attack.

​They stone me even when I’ve already begun to fall, after a year long climb up a wretched wall.

My self hatred is unmatched; inwardly and outwardly a fool.

Weeping strictly when the door is locked is my biggest rule.

Nary a soul’s first choice; consistently left behind, so I drown in the mud inside my own damaged mind.

My pale skin is grotesque, as are the obnoxious features upon; perhaps I’ll appear prettier in photographs one day when I’m gone.

I’m unaware of my name or which path I should tread; sometimes I believe I’d be better off dead.

​The air around me becomes increasingly thin.. each and everytime my panic sets in.

I faint from the tremors buried beneath my skin; I’d rather be alone with myself than together with them.

I’m just the ghost of layered trauma, seemingly trapped in the past; is it me or is it perhaps my memories that deserve to last?

I remain lonely inside rooms filled with laughter and cheer; it’s the people that are happy in which I most fear.

A soul-lacking skeleton is how I long to appear; whilst robbed of an ability to decipher a moment from a year.

What’s worse? a smile or a tear?

Well tears are familiar, it’s the theft of a rare smile that I fear.

I reside in the dark, I religiously avoid the light.

In the dark, at least I’m the only isolated monster I must fight.