I took my last breath, grasping for air.
Waking in a cold sweat, crying.
A recurring nightmare that returned—
One I thought I was long done with.
I try to run, but my legs wont work.
I try and scream, but my mouth…
My thoughts escape my mental,
replaced with fear and terror.
Death stalks me when I’m not awake.
They tell me that God has my back.
But I feel like I walk with the devil.
Yet my grandmother calls me an Angel.
If Angels once walked heaven,
before being cast out to hell—
Does that mean I am a forsaken son?
That would explain so many lows.
That knife that pierced through my flesh
when death came for me while I was awake.
A lonely bus stop mattress that left me cold
and my only company being the night sky.
When my health failed and stole love—
Or really, love left me to cry alone.
Death peaked in on me again,
reminding me that he was just a call away.
If they say that the devil loses,
then I must be the King of Hell.
More losses than a Cleveland team
and left with no more tears to share.
But I think of friends who didn’t make it.
Friend’s missing bothers, fathers and mothers.
A dear friend who died alone,
taking away the celebration of Christmas.
How can I bring in the holidays with her gone?
Walk down the street with his bloodstain?
Comfort them and convince them to live,
when the reason they’re alive is no longer here?
I remember every word they ever told me.
The strength that they gave me.
The prayers they gave, even if I don’t pray.
The ones who never gave up on me.
Knowing that life is just too short.
Though the ups and down,
through the sorrow and tears,
I am truly just happy to be here.