"I should be dead by now,"
I mutter those words near daily, fighting against myself to admit
a simple fact of fate; I’m alive and perhaps I should be.
I wander through cigarette streets, avoiding eye contact
with any soul who tries to pierce mine; everyone searching for answers,
for love or hope or forgiveness.
Uncool, unkempt, uninspired and under appreciated,
once suicidal but now slightly nihilistic, yearning for a faith
or some sort of answer to the big Why.
Once alone but surrounded by people filled with love.
Once held by a mother,
Once scolded by a father,
Once embraced by a sister,
Once drugged at a party, left without a heartbeat for a matter of seconds,
just enough to let a loved one feel that gut-wrenching hammer of
One moment later, my chest rises and life is once again given,
rebirth, reinvention, reanimation, response,
forcing me to wake up in a hospital bed asking what happened,
crying as if I already knew and once again saying, “I should be dead.”
Broken and hurt, chest bruised from palms of revival,
still searching for the answer.
Life mutters, whispers words incomprehensible,
and I let those words pass through me like air,
when they are as tangible as my own skin,
and they are my own skin
and those words are simply saying,