Somewhere in the haze of pain that was 2006
I sat down here because I couldn't
stand
this
I can't stand this anymore
I sat down here, at the bottom of the stairs that would become my
home not home my not home
I didn't know yet how often I would sit here
at the bottom of the stairs of this
broken down split level
because here I am invisible they can't see me they don't know but I can
hear
everything
going on upstairs and right now they're
shouting
they're shouting at each other and I would
count the times I will sit here and listen to the
shouting but it would be
hard because of the dissociating
to remember accurately
and the haze of pain
in my body only
remembers strange
details like
the red polish on my nails and I
remember how I
ran the back of my hand against wall maybe just to
feel something other than pain
and it left a red streak on the
white paint
and in the years
years
the years that would follow I would
sit there and
listen
and stare at that red streak
and remember how I first sat there in
blank disbelief, my hand a ghost attached to a
body that wasn't real
and yet somehow it made a mark upon the
blank white wall
in that dim musty hell
and I thought
is this my life now?
is this my
life
now
....so you see, this is what I couldn't write to you, in the blog that was supposed to be
our shared memories, an account of our lives, of our day to day living
but I wasn't alive, I was a
red streak on the
white paint and I was
too busy dying to
remember how to
breath life into the
words I wanted to say,
so they stayed inside, trapped
in my head, all the times I wanted to
cry and cry and cry and let it all
out and I wanted to tell you
but I didn't know how to make
words anymore when my
life was
shattered
glass upon the floor
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