day SEVEN HUNDRED and FORTY SIX

I Didn't Want to Survive

Life may be unimaginable

without those great battles

we fight with ourselves.

The war inside fought

against our hearts and minds,

tears in our eyes, begging

forgiveness, for the love

we swear to deserve and

cherish, for that which

keeps our bodies warm and

comforted at night,

for all that has been lost

to never be found again along the way.

Life may never be the same,

may never be unquestionably good

or without pain.  The car crashes

and thoughts thrown like ashes

through the windshield, the dark

and silent moment

where there's nothing left

to fight for.  When there's

nothing more that could damage

anything that may remain intact.

Shattered little beings just

crashing into one another

screaming out in agony as our

lies to ourselves uncover

no skin left to shed.  Little bleeding

hearts with pulpy beats on the pavement

pounding out our songs to the world

and praying to God or someone to hear and

push our trampled hearts back from

whence they came, deep in the dark

and deep within our chests.  Our little selves

with sockets empty and raw from the war

so large they seem to be all we're made of.

A walking, talking, gaping hole with no

recollection of how to breathe or think

and our world crushed underfoot as we sit,

staring at our broken hearts on the floor

after being thrown back at ourselves with the

comet-tail of others' judgment.  We sit

watching it beat back against the rain

trying to wash it clean.  Red light pouring from

the street as cars rush past, hurrying to crash

into others and splatter their own lives

onto the street.  Watching everything rush past.

Watching.  And waiting

for the world to change.

--Cristina Kennington