It's always been me

I swallow the broken glass of the night,
Down where the subway hums a hollow sound,
And tie my chest with rusted steel cables
Just to keep my ribs from caving in.
I try to hold the flood,
To dam the rushing dark behind my teeth,
But the currents are too heavy,
And the tide turns, always turns,
From a sharp and jagged anger
Striking like a stray match in the alleyway,
Straight down into the oil-slick gutters of depression.

I am trying. God, I swear I am trying.
Walking these concrete canyons on a tightrope
Made of frayed nerves and whispered failures.
One wrong step, one heavy breath,
And the whole world shatters at my feet again.
It’s always me.
The glass breaking in the empty kitchen,
The traffic stalling out in the rain.
Is it really me? Every single time?
Am I the architect of my own ruin?
The air tastes like ash and self-loathing,
And the seasons inside me change in a single second,
Summer’s violent heat, winter’s crushing frost.
What is the pavement? What is the fall?
I can't tell the real from the ghost anymore.

The neon signs above the bodega blur and bleed,
A migraine pulsing behind my eyes,
And I am exhausted.
So tired of carrying this city on my back,
Of breaking everything I touch with bare hands.
I can’t keep this up.
I can't breathe beneath the weight of it.

If I could trade this heart for a live wire,
If I could let the frostbite take the rest of me,
I would.
I just need to not feel anything ever again.
Just let the static take the pain, the hurt,
The crushing weight of disappointed hope,
Even the ghost of happiness that mocks me from afar.
Just turn the dial to zero.
Make me numb to the blood,
Numb to the bone,
Numb to the mirror.
It is too much.
I am barely holding together,
A stack of dry leaves in a hurricane,
Just waiting for the final wind to blow.