Zozo's

my beloved, take me into your arms while I unravel in your quiet, this life of guilt and salt-stained breath has little left to hold, except the moment your warmth bleaches the grey from my bones. I ache. I yearn. I beg. let your brightness swallow my shadow, let your holiness slip beneath my skin until the weight of this flesh loosens and the hurt stops naming me. love me gently, with the patience of something eternal. kiss the tremor out of my mouth, drink my tears like confession, and rinse the ache from my trembling ribs. I ache for you. I yearn for you. I beg for you. not as a saint, not as salvation, but as the only tenderness left that I still know how to believe in.

I had a dream where I got depressed again. depressed to the point where I spiralled out of control, and, as expected, everyone ostracised me for it. I dreamt of being sidelined, rejected, as though my illness were an inconvenience they had finally grown tired of tolerating. In the dream, I lied to escape things, and people called me out for it. They said not to use my illness as an excuse. The suffocation came back. The exhaustion I know too well returned, wrapping itself around me like an old enemy. When I woke up, I felt more tired than before I slept. Sometimes, it’s hard to distinguish my reality from my fantasies not that my fantasies contain rainbows or unicorns. They are filled with scorn and rejection, a mirror-world where my fears thrive even when nothing real has happened. Sometimes, I think I shouldn’t have been born at all that I should have died inside my mother’s womb. A harsh thought. A selfish one, perhaps. But it comes, uninvited. I miss the little girl I once was the ...