What terrifies me

I have never been able to understand the panic that some people have about death.
The truth is that I am not afraid to die,
if that's what I am, a survivor in life.
What terrifies me is living.
What terrifies me are the cold winter days,
And let there be no hand that rests on mine and tells me that the storm will pass.
-Both. The one outside and the one inside.

What terrifies me are the incessant doubts,
the strings of voice due to the pain,
the darkness that looms every time I turn off the light.
And all I see is fear.
And me suffering,
breaking down missing something to shake me up but for once,
don't stun, just wake up.

I am afraid of heights,
the skyscrapers to which my hope and my desire to throw everything away, including myself, are fleeing.

My chest is sore, and full of feelings and I love yous that I don't say.
I have tinged sadness, disguised with phrases like: it's just a bad day, or the tireless ”nothing, nothing is wrong with me”. But everything is wrong with me.
I tremble surrounded by sheets that neither cover me nor provide me with warmth.
I tremble clinging to the idea of feeling something inside other than emptiness or dead butterflies.
I tremble because I want to stop feeling this irrational fear, and why lie;
I also want to stop shaking.

That's why when they ask me
what I am afraid of,
I say that above all to what my verses say because they describe to perfection all my torment.

Because they tell the story that I drag every Sunday or Friday night that becomes an impossible burden to lift.
Because I feel like writing without contexts.
To love without regrets.
To live,
without fear of the wind blowing.

Photographers: Mattéo Mecheko