Everything I Never Had the Courage to Say

sanity thieves

Evanescent love affairs
fueled the never ending nightmares.
I wake up dreading the sun,
I go to sleep feeling undone.

It's like living in someone's skin,
being responsible for that one sin.
They call it by different names,
said it's a disease, an illness— sanity thieves.

Vices don't even get me high anymore,
even the somnolent sky know it's not like before.
It's this labyrinth in the cavern of my skull,
the ache in my chest that never gets dull.

It's a chaotic mess and then, it's static;
it's a dark, dark place but sometimes, it's magic.
It's a hopless warzone at midnight;
and a sunlit forest come morning light.

Superimposed thoughts upon memories,
Of parallel universe and conspiracy theories.
Of both epic love and ghost stories.
It's a wild, disruptive, unorganized menagerie.

I drift off and it doesn't help much,
but it's temporary escapism.
I breathe for the overthinking, the overfeeling, the overwhelming voices inside my head.
Maybe I am designed to be different.

I cope with colors and inks,
with warm bodies and superficial links.
I indulge in pleasure until I feel nothing,
only to feel shitty the next morning.
Numb should be good, it should be excellent.
Until when it wears off, I return to feeling like secondhand.

It's like living in someone's skin.
A shadow in a costume she'd long mastered walking around in.