Wednesday

You tell me its ok and i know you truly think it is, perhaps because what you went through was worse? So i keep searching for beyond what i can see, beyond what the gods have presented, as though maybe somewhere my potential hides away waiting to be found. I feel the fist against my cheek, it doesnt make me sad, nor angry. It feels like a long awaited plan has been realised, the journey just reached the destination. And grandma tells me 'go home for god sakes!' Again, because she was around in the depression and i am merely a product of a selfish generation, I dont know about pain. I am only 18. I watched the needle hit the vein and the blood pour out like a river. I watched you watch me, and i thought why did you do that to yourself? You lost our lives in the sorrow of your past, you let it eat us up and spit us out, now i look for answers in the same places you did. I felt the hard knuckles in my cheek bone, a fierce whack. The bone burnt the next day. Did you really want to hurt me? It felt as though you did.
I ran away on the train early that morning and the trees seemed to offer answers, the further i was from myself the better. Now im here, in this place, still remembering myself back then. a baby.
You tell me i am lucky, perhaps i am. But what i see is my truth, not yours. Sometimes it feels like the weight could break me in half.
I remember crying at the bottom of the stairs and saying to the police lady "why did he do this?" She smirked. I remember that like yesterday, like a thousand needles breaking the skin and an endless fist upon my face.
Do i forgive you? Sometimes.
But i punish you by punishing myself.