Coffin

I have unspecified-anxiety-disorder, at my worst points in life, this is how I may feel. We should be able to speak about these things openly so none of us feel enclosed in a coffin. This goes for all genders, though I try to put the focus on men, or males. Please DISREGARD societies standards of masculinity; being represented by conforming to an "ideal" image, that you are only a man if you do not express your emotions to those around you. If you feel like you cannot handle something on your own, you're allowed to call a friend, family member, therapist, whomever you prefer. There are people out there that care. You are not alone.

A poem for those who may relate .

I feel nonexistent energies

I swear they're there; then suddenly,

vanishing from sight.

Please turn back on the light.

I do not like to linger too long

in the dark.

I admit, it can be comforting.

Sitting in silence, listening to your own breath.

It will beat you down; your heartbeats beats, until there is nothing left.

Though, we all knew that.

We learned at a young age, that when the heart stops, it means you're dead.

Or, not breathing, not living, not existing.

However; what does it mean when you're sitting in light,

breathing with lungs that expand across the rib-cage, that cages away your heart, though you cannot feel the breath.

You are sucking in nothing.

You swear your lungs are expanding, but nothing is entering nor exiting.

Nothing converses between throat & air, & breathe, & your heart skips a beat...

though, what does "that" mean.

If for that second you stopped breathing;

"Am I dead?"

"Did I die?"

Will I be considered a carcass ready for coffin if I could never seem to ever take in air regularly; without stopping, without skipping a...

Where are the lights & why wont they turn on?

I am trapped here, in this closed coffin, forbidden from light.

Breathing in life, skipping past it occasionally to allow death to come through.

I did not mean to; I did not want to, it just happens.

I swear I have control over my esophagus, & chest,

or at least I think I do.

When will my body start decaying inside these tight walls that have been built to prevent the light from shining through,

when will my bones stop aching from the death that I have sunk into,

when will I breathe without skipping a breath, letting in death & letting go of life,

when will I survive,

when will I die?

How old am I? I am seventeen

Is that too young an age to say I've fallen through the light & bled out darkness to perspire a reek that only I may smell?

The decaying dictations that are my dreams that remain unseen,

& hidden.

Locked away,

with me,

in this coffin.

Bury me deep beneath the roots of life & death;

leave me there to rot until there is nothing left,

because only then

will I be reborn

& see light again.