Portrait of Panic

She’s known pain. The kind that strips you from yourself and rebuilds you out of fragments of every person close enough to leave a scar.

How many floors have known the weight of her loneliness?

She’s immune to the sound of slamming doors dead bolted on her feeble hands.

Her lungs are full of contaminated air from past lovers stealing the breath from their mouths. All because she longed to be close to them- close enough to sink into their skin and breathe their polluted oxygen. She’s left with blackened lungs but she never touched a single cigarette.

She longs to shed the skin of yesterday, but is more fearful of what lingers within her DNA.

She’s spilled her guts on apartment floors. Blood and tissue seeping into the carpet grains as she begs for pick up her pieces and shove them back inside, he reminds her he never read a single book on anatomy. He knew nothing about love in any genuine capacity.

His eyes glide past the bruises riddled along her body like he’s blind to his own wrongdoings. He paints over every impurity with empty promises in hushed tones as if his voice wasn’t screaming in scarlet hues.

She began to hear every ‘i love you’ muffled.

She dismantled her body with her own bare hands. The cold metal blade tracing her thigh was the equivalent of his touch- painful and bleak.

She used toxic encounters as sandpaper- to smooth out her rough edges. She told herself if anyone was going to take advantage of her vulnerability- it would be on her terms.

Visions of impurities, hot skin on hot skin.

Her body is a temple but she saw it as something worthless to dissemble. Nobody taught her of the true potential she had stored within her veins just waiting to be used.

Some days it’s harder for her to fight against the waves spilling out of all four chambers, panic runs rampant through her bloodstream.

She longs for a sense of stability- some silver lining that this pain is temporary.

She stands on the perimeter of tomorrow as time shifts and shapes into a hopeful portrait of clarity.

She’s immune to the cold, but I promise winter doesn’t last forever.

With both feet on the ground, the firm foundation of recovery, she walks in harmony. No longer unbalanced by a thousand agonies. Counting the heel-to-toe clicking of descending footsteps. Walking away from things that only bring negativity.

And this is forward progress.

There’s beauty in the way the sunsets lean towards her, the way the ocean splits in two when she crosses the chaos.

She’s the most beautiful creature and I wish she knew it.

Because the whole world is rooting for her.

All she has to do is keep going.

She may feel like she’s stuck because her skeleton is shattered, but broken bones grow back stronger.

The sun will rise and she’ll try again.

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