Living | Teen Ink

Living

March 16, 2021
By cshaw-21 BRONZE, Boynton Beach, Florida
cshaw-21 BRONZE, Boynton Beach, Florida
1 article 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"If you want to kill yourself, kill what you don't like. I had an old self that I killed. You can kill yourself too, but that doesn't mean that you got to stop living." <br /> <br /> -Anonymous


I lie awake as the flashbacks dance on my forehead. 

The piercing cries of my past life 

knock my door. 

Trying to ignore their offers, 

I toss and turn. 

But how much longer must I toss and turn

before they get too bored to pry. 

So I sit and I wait and I sit and I wait some more. 

But they never come inside. 

They get so close to the opening, 

but then wait there-

and stare.  

Static filling my ears. 

Like a pebble falling down a well,

I innocently descend deep into their traps,

not knowing when I'll reach the bottom. 

Summiting. 

Flailing.

Living.

The pressure pushing down so hard on my chest. 

The only air left has been second-handed. 

Thrifted 

and 

hand-me-downed,

from all the people before me. 

All the people before me who fell too. 

The deeper I fall the lighter I feel.

Weightless.

But not dying. 

Free.

Struggling,

but

Living. 

Hair flying above me,

Eyes watering from the 

black

of their recycled air. 

But then I suddenly crash underwater. 

Chest throbbing and stinging from the impact. 

I keep still as I don't know what lies beneath the surface. 

The high ringing sound getting louder now. 

One of their hands grips my ankle from the deep,

slowly, 

and 

painfully 

dragging me farther and farther down. 

Until I'm at the very bottom. 

The bottom of everything. 

Now completely stuck,

I stop struggling. 

And let it take me. 

I slowly open my eyes and I'm back in my bed again. 

Hearing their knocks at my door. 

Ignoring their offers anew. 

So I toss and I turn and I toss and I turn. 

But fall in their lies once more. 

Crying.

Dying. 

Half alive.  


The author's comments:

When writing this poem, I tried to grasp that feeling of despair while you fall into nostalgia portrayed as a fathomless well. 


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