Loop Behavior

There are too many thoughts for one body.
They move in circles,
wear paths into the same places
until the ground gives in.

Patterns arrive before intention.
I react
and call it instinct.
I leave
and call it safety.

Trauma never raises its voice.
It just adjusts the volume
of everything else.

I mistrust silence.
I mistrust warmth.
I mistrust the moment right before
someone decides I am difficult.

Memory doesn’t line up.
Time splinters.
The past interrupts without asking.

PTSD keeps me alert
for things that already happened.
BPD keeps me searching
for proof I exist at all.

I study myself like evidence.
I replay the same scene
from different angles,
hoping one of them explains
why I always choose the fire.

If only there was sand.

Something that would slow the fall.
Something that would let time pass
without cutting.

But there is only repetition.
Only noise I have learned to call thought.
Only the quiet work of surviving
another loop.

I remain here,
unfinished,
watching myself happen
again.