the ache of staying alive

how much it hurts to stay. i am not fire, or a myth — just bones, flesh, still red.   i crave the black, the stillness the cathedral i’ve built inside it, the quiet keeps me a mute still i’m in pursuit.   it’s easier to write being than be.   i keep a knife by my side, in case i blink. no apologies.   all i’ve ever wanted was to be seen —   it feels like a car collision in my chest, every day.   my body aches, but not from pain.   joy swallows me though i’m not whole; if i went tonight, i’d die happy   alright.   isn’t that just what the living ache for?