#im currently operating on three nights in a row of <5 hours of sleep and basically hallucinated this entire poem

[wizardofarles]

Survivor (Victim)

Did I survive? I breathe, I think,

but am I alive?

I did not overcome—I failed,

gave in, gave up.

I never fought, and never won.

I slayed no demons—I couldn’t

face them. I left

the door wide open, let them in, let them

change me, erase

me,

bury me cold,

six feet under their monstrous weight,

I laid down and was grateful

for the rest and how they allowed me to

hide. I closed my eyes,

but my mouth like a wound remains

open, waiting

for the right moment—for the right

words—to scream, waiting

for caring hands

to claw through the earth and tear my body

free—

waiting always, always choking

on the dirt that fills my lungs,

as countless bright full summers

pass above. Is this breathing?

Is this living? I fear I’m just a ghost,

a whisper

of what could have been, what once was

—tethered to this place

by a thin thread—

You have not found my corpse.