I found this poem while looking back on some of my writings from the past year and a half, and it struck a chord. Maybe because I wrote it almost exactly a year ago (hello #spookyseason), or maybe it’s because I finally feel like I actually am coming back to life. I think it’s important to appreciate where we’ve been, both the highs as well as the lows.
Please don’t forget that everyone climbs their own mountains; we all have a story.
TW: substances, self-harm, depression
Merriam-Webster defines a vampire as “the reanimated body of a dead person believed to come from the grave at night and suck the blood of persons asleep,” but maybe there’s a different kind of vampire too..
A woman
Animated on the outside
Dead on the inside
Longing to lie in a grave,
and never wake up
Alive only in the dark
Amidst smoke
and haze
Thriving on
– Alcohol
– Drugs
– Sex
Instead of craving others’ blood –
Her desire is her own;
fileting her flesh
Dragging the sharpened blade
once,
twice…
Slice after slice
Watching the warm liquid
Pulse and Flow
Emptying
Drop after drop
Until everything feels
cold,
dead.
Can a creature buried so deep,
ever come back to life?
WanderingDreams 