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  4. Transcript of Walls Start to Melt - Liv's poem

Transcript of Walls Start to Melt - Liv's poem

 

Oh little crystals, so sweet, so glittering.
Crush them up in the sweet bitter tang of another day left to the monsters to eat.

As shapes and forms all lose structural integrity, we can laugh at gravity.
I bowed my head to Satan each time I bent for another line.

One substance to go up, special K for breakfast to come down.
Yo-yoing through the insipid, spiteful week

It all feels so natural until you're off that diving board, and you crawl about hoping for the beasts and the shadows and the dimensional shiftings to just stop.
Please make it stop

We laugh about our times in the K-holes like injured soldiers, but we don't stroke each other's wounds, we bandage them and soothe them.
We are the bloody lucky ones

I have met 21-year-olds with bags on their legs, poor kids hopping to the toilet every five minutes and not for any fun reasons.
I have snorted lines through a broken nose without even noticing.
My bladder reminds me daily of the days lost to the little baggies of radical desperation, incinerated devastation, sobbing revolutions.

I don't say these things to scare you.
I am one of a lucky few who found some rooms with some chaotic people in.

I latched on for dear life because that's what I'm fighting for.
I found some strangers wanting to hug me and accept me and I wanted more.

I bear my scars as a survivor of so much evil that I reckon hell is indeed empty.
I’ve cried at the clouds at the dead of night to keep me alive.
Someone, anyone, don't let me die.

I've cried at the ceiling when awoken to tubes down my throat.
I've cried with laughter in damp church halls with people who just get it.

The oasis of numbness is never what it whispers it is.
It's crumbled families and foul dumbness.
Real life turns out to be the best dimension to live in.

You think you're screwed, you think you can't, but you can, you will.
Recovery is possible here, there, always, still.

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