The essays I have written
on the wretchedness of this world,
they are merely an argument,
a poor argument,
the only argument I can give
when I am confronted
by the wretchedness of my own soul,
the blood on my own hands,
the weight of shame on my conscience,
and my inability to change.
(Quote from manga Oyasumi Punpun)
There was no breath left to let out
as I throw myself down the stairs.
And every step that I tumble down,
I feel breaking bones.
Muscles and knuckles
losing another bubble of a happy memory
that I once thought would be enough to keep me alive.
My broken thoughts rush into my blood
into my empty lungs,
almost convinced that this the last
they will see of me.
And I never tire out.
I never feel sore enough or pained enough
to stop myself from doing this to me.
But while I took you for another wall
that existed to break me,
another voice to help me fill up
pages of essays of self-hatred
and regrets that do not forget me.
You became the arms that hold me, lift me
And carry my burden of life along with me.
And for first time
I want to live better.
And I want you in that better life with me.