lying on a stretcher

and i’ve been, waiting for a tragedy to come and finally take over me. so that my cries for help will no longer be just cries, they’ll reflect on heart monitors and doctors telling me, no, i’m in fact, not okay. so that i’ll finally have good reason for being who I am today. so that a professional in a field can fix me up and put me in a cocoon of bandaids, finally no longer bandaids of my own. rub me with alcohol and rest my head against a pillow and tell me it’s okay to fall asleep, and to never wake up, because maybe this is where i’m destined to be. hook an IV through my veins and pump my blood and oxygen for me, tell me it’ll be okay, or it might not, and even that’s okay. i’ve been waiting for bullets to strike my chest, not the imaginary ones I breathe through everyday, the real ones. the ones people die to. not the invisible back stabbing bullets and knives i’ve been dying to, slowly. but who knew? heart monitors keep saying my heart beats the same, doctors check my vitals and tell me i’m okay. i’ve been lying on a stretcher and they keep telling me i’m okay? i’ve been waiting for a tragedy to take ahold of me but I keep pushing through, keep breathing through all the blood and the bullets, lying on a stretcher but I keep my eyes open. let it rain on me, letting the bullets and all my blood rain on me.