Sometimes I beg to pull the strand of dna
That contributes to my mental illness,
Set it alight with my broken synapses.
Suffocate it with my blurred and dark trauma.
If only it were that simple. If only the misery
Didn’t feel like being in the middle of the ocean,
Alone, and ready for impending death.
I play with the idea that the highs, were
Sane, unfiltered happiness. Not exaggerated,
Pulled and malleable, extending over the most
Obscure reasons and situations.
The most difficult, is those in which I am not
Who I appear to be. My body remains the same
Shell, though a dark cast is set over my eyes,
Searching for something to ground me, to stop
The dissociation, make me know who ‘me’ is again.
Dissociation tears like a knife dragging every
Demon in my body to the surface, like my brain is a control centre that has been hacked, I sit back
Hear the muffled voice – my voice? – speak words
Laced with venom, and spat out. Watch my hands
Ready to cause chaos, though, it’s too tiring to try
To stop. So I sit, watch the horror film that I star in
Wait for the climax, miss the credits and wake up
To pick up the pieces. Play the game over and over. A retro arcade game that I will never complete till it is broken. Though every time I have, I somehow end up fixed. Yet I’ll never know,
If it was me.