(no subject)

do you ever become irrevocably aware of your voice?

the lilts in your tone, the wilts in your soul.

i heard my voice the other day— not through a recording, but clear as glass in my ears. whiny, bratty, arrogant, i guess that never changes. sharp and reedy and cuts too thinly, well i’m just a papercut to the space between your index and middle finger.

and what the fuck happened to puberty?

once you’re broken (in) you stay that way. try to claw your way out of hell, end up six feet back under. guess there’s no return on drowning, no repeat or press pause, press pause, pressed paws, my cat is fucking vomiting onto the fucking floor. it looks like shit, it’s bloody and one two three four ply toilet paper too much.

ply me open with your best shot, motherfucker. you want to hit me with your best shot? motherfucker i want you to try.

masochistic in the worst (best) way, i suppose. bleeding free and falling fast and wondering what on earth it is that compels me to be so curious. curious the way i’m dying curiousity the way i’m killing pieces of myself to get your attention because ATTENTION your undivided ATTENTION i want it so bad.

this isn’t a crush i don’t think. just loneliness.

(no subject)

mirror image of a glassy thought half-formed, who are you?

i keep searching for answers, but all i ever do is circle.

i’ll die a Romantic and i’ll go down with my love safe between keys. funny how i want to be caught in the middle. i never did like drama.

(no subject)

‪i am grasping at an image that doesn’t exist— one where i am whole and wholly happy and holy shit what did i do to myself to end up like this. two weeks left to hang (myself) in there but two weeks too late i’ve burned (out) to a fucking crisp. smoke me dry, leave me be, but don’t leave me alone. ‬