A Liar’s Ramblings.

You ask me who I am. My mind screams the word at me, daring me to let it spill from my lips. A four letter word: liar.
Because that is who I am.
Because that is what I start and end every day with. Lies repeated to myself, sometimes out loud, sometimes just in my mind.
A three word lie, over and over, with each beat of my heart.

I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.

But-
NO. NO. NO.
My mind screams back at me.
That’s a white lie. Sometimes I am not.

Many times.

Not during the day, never during the day. The days are safe- except for golden sunlight, it reminds me of you.
But I don’t go out at all these days, and remind is such a funny word. I don’t even know you.
I don’t even know if you exist.

And the nights. The nights. The nights.

You are my sunshine. But the stars are cold, the moon is cold.
The chill has sunk into my soul.
Where are you, my sunshine?
Will you please come to me?

Why won’t you come to me? I even write you letters, so many of them. They don’t fit in the dusty space under my bed anymore.

Many people are whole, even on their own.
I am not. I was never made to be.
I am waiting. I’ll be waiting for ever.
Please, listen to my pleas for once.

I don’t want to drown here anymore. Pull me out and let me breathe. You’re the only one who can.

So you ask me who I am. I do not know.
But I can tell you just what I am- incomplete.

I Should’ve Known Better.

I swore on the grave of all the dreams I had abandoned, I wouldn’t let you get to me. I swore on the sun and I swore on the moon, and I swore on the love that made them chase each other across the heavens- the sadness would never find a home in my ribs again. I promised myself that I would wait for you, I’d wait for as long as I had to because I knew, I knew you were coming and I promised myself I wouldn’t doubt you.

But the sadness is here again now, breaking down my door, and you are not. And I’m left sitting here in resignation, wondering if you ever even really existed, if you weren’t just a figment of my desperation, I’m left sitting here counting down the ticks and tocks of this old dusty clock until the sadness floods in to smother me; I’m left sitting here craving the bitter taste of tobacco and death again, craving the feeling of vengeful pleasure that came with the tar smoke corrupting my lungs with every inhale and every cough; I am left sitting here, craving my own end, and thinking ‘God, I should’ve known better than to let a dream wreck me like this. I should’ve fucking known better.’