Why

Why have I not yet drowned?

With my head held underwater,

The pressure is tangible, palpable,

Omnipresent and everywhere,

Pushing me down under, harder, deeper;

My head feels bloated, swollen,

From the screaming of my brain,

A long,

Drawn-out,

Pleading wail,

Begging for the oxygen

That it will never attain.

Why have I not yet starved?

There’s an emptiness within me,

A hollow, recess feeling

In my stomach,

In my gut,

In me,

A gaping hole

That food cannot replace.

It’s always there,

Ever-gnawing at the rest of me,

Eroding it,

Eating away

At what little is left.

Why have I not yet asphyxiated?

There’s a pounding in my head,

A burning in my throat

Where the noose is knotted,

Tautened,

Digging into my flesh,

Like a boa constrictor-

An ironclad grip on my heart and chest,

Clasping,

Clutching,

Squeezing to the beat of my heart,

Tighter with each futile pulse.

Why have I not yet bled to death?

My body is one great wound,

Rivulets of blackened blood

Running down my limbs

Washing them in carmine,

Crimson,

Scarlet;

I feel dazed with pain,

My vision tinged in red,

My skin waxy and pale;

Transparent,

Like the ghost I should be.

Why have I not yet passed?

My heart still pulses vainly on

In its empty shell

Of a ribcage,

Forcing onto me the burden

Of this life,

This being,

This existence.

I cannot understand

Why my body is still fighting

When I have given up.