Undone

What do you do when you feel as though you are coming undone.
A piece of string unwound, and the entire metamorphosis stunned.
Just asking for a friend. 
She feels her heart is tearing inside and ripping out her lungs.
Yet the beat is steady,
And the drum makes her numb.
She is greatness, brave and loved 
Yet it is the tragic loss that envelopes her every day.
The kind where it makes you feel as though your skin is an ashtray.
The kind that wakes you up with tears in your eyes.
With hope draining from the sockets and the weight of expectations just becomes so exponentially large that you start praying for it to crush you.
You pray that you can make it through 12 more hours.
And you watch others as they fall short of this depression.
You demand why, why is it that they get to be living.
When I feel so stagnant and dead inside.
Why is this world left up to probabilities and possibilities?
Again, just asking for a friend.
She whispers in my ear, passing her energy as my own.
She knows that it will fade,
But the ombre is just too slow.
I am trying, 
She tells me everyday.
Yet she is trying without any drive.
Like steering without any gas.
It feels like you are stuck.
Like you are pushing from the inside, and yelling out for help.
It feels like you are kicking at the door to break it down,
And everytime you see sunlight.
You feel rain.
You are drowning in the last drops of the last rain.
And are met with a drought.
Hazy days make her wonder the real purpose of living anymore.
The real purpose of living to only be greeted by death.
Was it worth it?
But,
Nevertheless,
Contradictions to her ideologie nad theologies of the world blunder her walls,
And just like that, five minutes of clarity is all she needs to see the sun without the rain. 
And just the same, feel the rain pour so that tomorrow will be a sea.
To move, to steer, to be rushed with the feeling of gratitude and perspective.
To feel as though her esophagus isn’t in the process of a supernova.
And that her lungs aren’t the black holes that suck the air out of the atmosphere.
That they do exhale from time to time.
Asking for a friend, because one day I might need the same advice.
And when that day comes,
I’d want to be told to give myself time.
Time to see that I am not unwinding, and falling apart,
Time to live, without worrying about being alive.
Time to break the clock, 
To watch it stop ticking.
To hear it stop mocking, and playing tricks with my mind.
I wish to give myself time,
Not like the age of adaline, 
But time to see that it is a construct,
One out of my own creation.
The concept took.
The mathematical process in which time left the world shook.
And is one that should not be messed with, don’t get wrong.
But time as a relative judgment to you,
Should be assessed on a case to case basis. 
Because we each experience different metamorphosis’ 
On different timelines,
Ones that never want to be linear.
And as I sit here and give myself this advice, I am starting to realize that I am never going to be linear.
Never going to see things as right and wrong.
Never complying to how I should be.
Because as we stuff ourselves into these molds,
We lose parts that we will later be forced to grieve.
I am grieving the parts that I never fully understood, but was never given a chance to.
Maybe it’s not that I am coming undone, and unraveling at the seam
And making myself insane in the process.
Maybe I am breaking the cycle of insanity.
Because, maybe, just maybe, I was never supposed to be bound in the first place.