My Own Life. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

My Own Life (Ruin Song) '
(for Another Poem for My Demons) *

The creatures whisper my name
in the cracks of the walls,
while everyone else calls me insane —
maybe they're right.
Or maybe this world
is just a fever dream
that forgot to end.

The shadows march in perfect silence,
and I follow,
barefoot and bleeding,
into my own grave.

When you left,
you were monstrous.
And still,
I miss you.

I tried to heal
in silence —
but silence can scream too.

Once again,
I climbed into someone else's wreck,
hoping this time
the ship wouldn't sink.
But hope is a noose,
and I tied it myself.

My anxiety is a python,
wrapping tighter
with every breath I take to write this.
No pills. No prayers.
Just this slow suffocation.

I know I lit the match.
I know the fire smells like me.
I know I am the arsonist
and the ashes.

Addicted
to the sting of my own collapse.

Another poem.
Another wake
with no one mourning.

You see brilliance,
some tragic prophet in the wreckage —
but I see a dying thing,
a rotted bud that never broke open,
wilting under a sky
that never rained.

Now I sit
in the wreckage of a sandcastle,
alone,
watching the tide
carry away
the last pieces of me.

This is not survival.
This is the long, slow
ending
of my own
life. MIRAK