Fragments of Me

[strong beacon]

Every night,
I fight myself.
One side longing to not wake up,
The other whispering of a new day.

"It's all gone now, you can rest."

Rest?—
"I have too much to do right now."

They both know there’s nothing left to fight for,
Only something to fight against.

How strange, to stand between yourself and yourself,
Throwing punches that land on your own skin,
And knowing, no matter who wins,
It is you who will lose.

Yet still—
"Maybe it is time to rest."

But then,
"What about parents?"

"They never cared for you to begin—why do you care?
They poured their broken dreams into you,
Their weights now yours alone to carry."

                                                               "But they are my parents—our parents."

Silence settles like dust in an empty room.
"You call them ours. When will you say myself?
When will you think of yourself?"

I hesitate.
"I don’t know. I never did."

"Because they never let you."

I ask myself, why ?
where did it all go wrong ?
where did it all go downhill ?

maybe had I known how to speak my words, I would not have been left alone here in the middle of nowhere,

"and who do you think made that ?"

                                               "there are voices in my head--
                                               they say it's a disease, they say you're a disease"

"they fear the truth"
"you never lived in peace, maybe you can rest in peace"

                                                              But the world is too big to leave behind"

"what world ?-
the one that trampled on you ?
the one that left you when you needed it the most ?
the one you longed for ?
the embrace you wanted ?
the warmth you never felt ?
the world is cold, and it will soon freeze to death.
you yourself saw your own world crumble"

                                                                "and I am happy I had a world like that"

"let go of that world, let go of her-
she knows you're weak, she knows you're not right in your mind,
yet she left you, just like how everyone leaves you"

                                                                 "you-
                                                                  you're me and that doesn't hurt you ?"

"it hurts me as much as it hurts you,
the difference being, you dreamed it was different,
and i realized it was same"

                                                                                     "are dreams not worth it ?"

"not here"

"you know our third self is writing us,
asking for help, and the world thinks it's fiction"

                                                        "I know, he's writing us at this moment too-
                                                          he's our voice"

"we're his-
the things he never says"

                                                                         "and the things he never accepts"

There are many voices in me.
This is only a few.

The child who never got a childhood.
The son who never felt his father’s embrace.
The friend who had his trust broken.
The student who failed at life.
The writer—

Ah, the writer,
Afraid to show his work to the world.
Afraid that his family will see it too,
And instead of questioning themselves,
They’ll question the child.

i lie to myself i care only about my mother,
but who do i care about ?

"you care about no one"

                                                                                     "NO- he's us, he's me,
                                                                                       he cares about everyone"

"that is his mistake"

                                                                                                             "our mistake"

Years have passed.
Home is a word I’ve forgotten how to feel,
And the person fighting beside me
Has turned to shadow—
A distant memory of a self I once knew.

Iron is cold to touch.
I realize now,
It isn’t just cold—
It’s sharp.

"the blood warms you"

                               "I know right ?
                               it's like all the warmth we gave everyone came from here"

"may you rest easy child, writer, son, student, friend"

                                                                   "let's hope we do not meet next time"

and I exhale my life as I lay down in the crimson pool.

The voices fall silent,
And the fight ends.
There’s nothing left to carry,
No weight, no war.
Just the cold,
And the quiet.

[soft musk]

This is well titled and narrated. Speaks for a soul thoughtful and conflicted. I do admire this piece.