First Sign Of Life


Lying on the hard icy table
Smells of pungent disinfecting cleaner burns my senses
I slowly take small painful breathes into my punctured lungs
Shards of broken ribs bring realization to my bruised life
I'm not sure whose skin I wear
Setting my twisted bones takes me deep in thought
I try and replenish memories of who I pretended to be
Fantasy became easy
Years passed through me crushing and stabbing my existence
Finally able to close the door that rotted on its hinges
It was I who presented the last agonizing blow of freedom
As pools of salted water welled in my sight
I realize that each nauseating breathe I took was my own.

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