Multiple Suicides

I am alive and breathing, but you can never know how many times I’ve killed myself. 

I’ve killed the version of me that perked up with excitement and anticipation. 

I now always prepare for the worst to avoid disappointment. 

I’ve killed that version too—the one who felt disappointed. 

I now simply swallow whatever heart-wrenching truths I’m forced to endure.

I’ve buried them beneath layers of half-hearted smiles and silence, convincing myself it’s better this way.

I've carried them like stones in my chest, heavy yet hollow.