Μελαγχολία

Inside, there was angst. Carefully layered between a river of blood and closely locked in by a thick layer of skin.

Consistently inconsistent. Everything was dense and compacted, a heavy head to hold up on my flimsy, boney shoulders. The world around, the world inside me. A fear of change. A fear of letting go. A fear that someone close to me, was catastrophizing.

I am too much. Too chaotic. Dissatisfied. Strung up like a goddamn clothesline. A vacant stare as you remind me of my insecurities. I search for peace, but it’s gone. You flick a switch and I am gone too. Consistently inconsistent, like you.

I walked slowly with my head down. Walked past all the flags, screaming red. I didn’t step on the cracks. Complex and complete, I avoid the melancholy look in your eye. Dying to know what’s going on inside but I don’t ask in case it changes your mood. I lay awake in the bed looking up at the roof but it was so dark all I could see was black and a crack of the street light that crept in through the half drawn curtain. Not myself, but someone other than me. Someone that carefully chose their words, even though I was smothered inside. Trying to dissect my failure, in every excruciating detail. Quietly gasping for air so I don’t wake you. You know it hurts me. But go ahead, cut me up. I’m only yours.