Shaky Lines | October 14, 2025
We live under the same sky.
You're in the city,
I'm in this town.
Same time zone, I guess,
But completely different fucking worlds.
Your life is a blur of parties I've only seen in movies,
Drinks with names I can't pronounce,
Friends who know the version of you that laughs easily.
You have a hand to hold in the dark,
A body next to you that isn't haunted.
My life is a small town,
Where everyone knows a lie about you.
It's never touching alcohol because the strongest thing I've tasted is the blood from my own lips.
It's not even knowing what a party is,
Just this constant yet quiet yearning for something I can't even name,
I can't even fathom the existence of.
It's a need to control the chaos that resides in my own head,
A need to know the steps before the music even starts.
So I need to know.
When you finally stop moving,
When the music dies down, and you look up at the stars...
Am I a constellation you'll even consider,
Or just a mess of shaky lines?
A connect-the-dots picture drawn by a trembling child,
Smudged with the ghosts of everything that's ever touched me.
Is there a patch of sky left for someone who comes with a manual?
Someone who needs trigger warnings and quiet nights?
Or maybe your constellations have already been drawn by someone else.
Are all the lines of your life already connected,
The picture finished,
Not an ounce of space left for a new, broken line?
Or maybe it's even worse.
Did I ruin the blank space you had saved before I even got there?
Are the stars I try and use already tainted,
Covered in the ashes of mistakes I've already made,
The dust of my own panic,
The fingerprints I left just trying so desperately to hold on?
I'm just here,
Under the same sky.
Waiting for some sign that you ever look up from your world,
And notice that mine is even there,
And that it isn't already collapsing.
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
