by Cassandra Price
Here I am. I am here.
Screaming, yelling
Hearing the vibrations of my voice echo off of the barren cave walls.
Mocking me.
Do you even hear me?
Here I am. I am here.
My atoms and molecules are present.
I am breathing. Three-dimensional.
Rivers are flowing down the valleys of my face, and the pain is welling up like an
Oily puddle on the street of a city during a rainstorm.
My face is turned red; flushed with crimson shades of sadness and gloom.
Here I am. I am here.
Do you even see me?
Here I am. I am here.
My body is shaking like a million earthquakes
Just off of the coast of my heart.
Right along the fault line.
It shatters everything in its path and splits my frame evenly in two.
At least it is half. If I cannot be a whole then I’d rather be a half
As opposed to a collection of misshapen shards.
My palms drip acid onto the tear stained ground, and
This acid is also running a marathon up my esophagus, desperately seeking escape.
I try to envelop myself in you, and I am rejected.
Here I am. I am here.
Do you even feel me?
My very existence depends upon you.
But, if this is true,
If these collections of letters into words into thoughts hold any significance,
If you cannot hear me, cannot see me, and cannot feel me,
Then am I real?
Here I am. I am here.
Or am I?
