WARNING: graphic content
The following story contains graphic imagery, mentioning blood and bruises. If you or anyone you know is experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts, please seek help from Ms. Rivers or any other trusted adult, or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255. To learn more about warning signs, and what to do in a crisis situation visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org
February 26th, 2019, at 2:05 PM
missing you used to be a nuclear war in my chest cavity
the nightmare where you’re falling
but you don’t wake up before you hit the ground.
it was the static on the tv filling my brain
black and white flickering
no one home.
missing you was like a fist around my throat
tight, squeezing, until there were bruises beneath my jawline
and dark circles under my eyes.
it was skin splitting under the showerhead,
watery blood running rivers down legs.
like one of my eyes was cut out of my head
and half the world was dark, bloody and soaked with tears.
missing you now is enjoying the rainfall from your window
before drowning in a monsoon.
it’s being afraid to go to sleep because sometimes
I swear I can hear you breathing next to me
in the pitch-black room.
missing you is smiling in my dreams
because that is the only place you still exist to me
and waking up as if my whole life
was just a bad experience of deja vu.
i hear the world from underwater now
faded, fuzzy, and in black and white.
missing you is the ending of a sad movie
yet the melancholy never goes away.
one day I pray that I’ll throw this necklace out.
that i won’t grow nauseous every time someone uses the same
laundry detergent as you.
On that day, missing you will be like hearing that someone died on the news
i will frown and think on it for a bit, maybe a moment or two,
and then i’ll remember what I was doing
and i’ll forget.
i hope that the way i miss you
will be like a forgotten memory, years from now.
like remembering for a moment
the first time i ever had a bath
or cried on the bathroom floor.
it will be like a cold spot in a room
where i question if i’ve ever felt this before
or if the story my cousin told me about ghosts
causing the room to grow cold is true
and i’ll shrug and walk away
the memory of missing you just a spirit in the wind