When I was a baby, why didn’t I choke on my drool. And get hurled across the room and break the world into two. Why didn’t I laugh with my baby laugh and my teeth filled with blood. Why didn’t I tell my dad that my mom goes out precisely when the room gets dark. Why didn’t I get furious and bleed through my mom’s uterus.
Don’t tell me how I should be grateful for winning the lottery of birth. Don’t tell me I should live my life without giving up. Don’t tell me you know how I feel. How can you know when I myself don’t know what to feel?
I’m starting to think that life is just a game that I want to play with my own rules. But my rules are going to get me killed. Or more like murdered. So maybe I’ll start betraying myself by playing by their rules. I’ll live the life of the dead.
It doesn’t matter what will happen to me after this. Even death would be a reward. But it feels better if I was never born.
Fuck self-love. I’ll hate myself for existing in this world.
When I learned how to walk, I didn’t. I thought that the other side of the room where my dad was seemed too far. I wouldn’t win such a race, and I should’ve ripped this lottery of birth to pieces in your face. But I sat and wondered where my mom was again. Did she go out even when the room didn’t get dark. My dad smiled at me, but I cried to say everything. It was everything; my hunger, my diaper, my pain, and my mom not coming back. I think I do not live, I was just born.
He kisses me,
wants me to be
less scared, be me
to feel all of my pain.
My home is far, close is the truest of my name.
But he’s my chain.
And he’s the lock.
He teaches me love gives and I have to present to him all I am. Pain. Bloodrain.
Born from silence, lives in
endless noises about how I
shouldn’t take what belongs
to me. One day, you’ll see
my heart will still be pure.
Pure evil.
And so I do not live. But I shall stroll the rivers in Hell with my mom. And I insist she holds my hands and ties herself to me with an umbilical cord. Such I demand from God because I was born. The devils will smile and smile and smile at me through the fires of Hell. But I won’t laugh my baby because I have grown and learned how to walk.
When his time comes, I pray he will go down and drown in the Styx. I will come across the river with his gaping lips as my last footing that leads me to the bank of the Great Tigris where my mom made a home for us to live.