Maybe one day I will be able to forgive myself so I can start to forgive everyone else.
Until then I will be the product of my own lies about how blissful I am when my eyelids are open.
It’s a different world when they are closed, one entirely too dark and too frightful to become a vacation spot and yet… I visit often.
I can’t I can’t I can’t I just can’t
It’s all sealed up like lids on jars, all twisted tight.
The screaming is only loud enough for the muffling pillows to find distressing.
The scratches are not even hard enough to break skin or leave scars - really, I promise.
So what is the point? What is even the point in trying when in the end there is not a single bit of release, just a sad burning person dripping with regret blowing away in a wind meant for sweeping away fallen leaves, leaves that nobody wants anymore once they’re dead and have been played with momentarily.
Maybe one day I’ll finally feel something other than remorse or maybe one day I’ll live up to the expectations that were tattooed on me for a minute.
Maybe I scratched those off too a long time ago along with the ability to think.
It’s a bad habit -maybe- but a great one -possibly.
It’s like those times I’d run my fingers through licking flames just to see how hot a fire really was.
It’s too bad I didn’t burn off my fingerprints in the process.
Maybe then people would never find me.
But in truth - I mean, let’s be completely honest here - have I been found yet at all?
I am still just broken roots in transient ground, about as useful as the missing sock under your bed.
I am a tide of water and salt that’s never touched a shore.
I am the broken humming of a fly who has no capability to hover.
I am snapped joints and bruised skin; I have no way to float - just hit, sink, and founder.
But I’ll lie again, the same old lie.
I’ll tell the world that there are no cracks here.
After all I’m not allowed to unveil the cracks we’ve accumulated.
My job is to cement them in but trust me I’m doing it for myself really.
The little sanity I’ve got left needs to be able to walk without fear of the ground crumbling.
I’m already afraid of the sky falling.
And trust me, it’s spiraling downwards right onto my head but naturally only I can feel the weight.
Maybe one day it will all just crush me.
Wouldn’t that just be too good to be true?


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