there’s a crack in the fixture

casually suicidal

wiping the dust off my wrist

checking my pulse

nearing my neck

if life was fixed

and you were too

would you still feel the way

i do?

there was fatigue of hundreds of days within me

and one fine day, this man tells me-

i promise you’ll be fine in 6weeks

my disbelief!

therapy changed me

and my family

but days when they are quiet

i hear things

i hear things when they look at me

i see things when they speak to me

i hate every calculated note i say

why does conversation with them have to be this way?

despite the constant berating and self hatred

i was comfortable in my own skin.

there was peace in the violence

and transparency in the war.

there was only exhaustion around them

and loss in appetite and i was sore

there is fear in getting better for them

and pain in losing to myself.

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