Untitled #29 - memories

It can never be anything else

Only I can dream of my baby

The one I saw in my dreams

Always broken, half formed

A tiny demon calling out to me...

It can never be anything else

For me it's not the heat

I want to blame our sessions of love

To say that we made a mistake

The one that I want;

It's not heat behind my thowing up

My queasy stomach and upset mind

The missed period and a new bra size

...Tiny broken form calling out to me

If only I could see you

My little black spot, again on a USG.

Untitled #28 - reductible

Anxiety gnaws at bones long gone raw,

Fears seem to be flying on 6th gear,

Maybe I need a therapist again to convince myself

To be kind to myself.

But do I deserve it?

Do I deserve it!

Do I deserve it?!

Maybe I don't.

Deserve to be wanted,

Deserve to be needed,

Deserve to be held,

Deserve to be needed.

To be kind is a big task,

Not sure I can really do it,

I'll try for you though.

I'll try for you.

Because you would not want to come home

To loneliness and torn veins,

To scratched skin and pink eyes,

A bleeding chest and empty lies,

A manifestation of depression in my person,

To the point that I'm not anything more than my illness...

It has won the war.

It has defined me into it.

Now there is nothing more to reduce me to

Other than flesh, skin and bones,

And maybe graveyard dust and ash

If it decides to be thorough.