i wasn't made for this.Mature

there's a fine line between an ambulance & an antidote. you were always holding my hand to your chest "is it beating?" you'd ask. i'd pull my hand away "you have a pulse, idiot."

i remember your quivering fingers dialing numbers to your relatives. you said you felt near death, & depersonalized. i got out of the car, fell against it & ran my hands through my hair. you didn't realize that i was the one having a panic attack. you were internally caught in a hand-made hospice. i didn't have the heart to tell you i was the one who was sick.

you lured me into it somehow. somewhere i stopped noticing that my chest was too tight and i kept checking to make sure that your eyes were still focused on this planet, and not whatever afterlife there may or may not be. i wonder if it worked on your family. if you'd made them so completely unable to focus or even acknowledge any of their own inner demons, cause heaven fucking forbid someone should not notice poor little you.

The End

1 comment about this exercise Feed