What's it like?

they want to know.

And you smile, grit your teeth

bare them in a grimace.

It's blood, you say.

It's blood

bite and snarl

screaming and howling

pounding fists.

It's hate and love.

It's fragility

wishing you were someone else

when your skin is too tight

on your bones.

It's bitter,

sharp words on your tongue

that you can't let loose 

lest you cut someone 

that isn't yourself

so you hold them in your mouth

burning

and let them eat at your flesh.

It's beautiful

each day a sunrise

different from the last

one that makes you breathe in and yell

at the top of your voice

just so the world can hear you

and know you are you

and you are here

and that is enough.

It's a wilting flower

prime far past

prime just a flickering moment, blink and you'll miss it

and somehow you miss it

with your eyes wide open

petals dead and drying,

youth wasted but preserved nonetheless

though nobody wants to see

what was

and what could have been.

It's fear, you might add

hands you can't move

not strong enough to shake,

but strong enough to pretend

you can't feel them

pressing down

dark and cruel and uninvited.

Oh yes

that is what it's like, you tell them

tears and overwhelming ecstasy

exhausting

and always

bleeding.