repetition: of saying “i love you” too often, of you considering it a chore when you have to reassure me again and again that you’re not tired of reminding me. of you getting bored of the same old conversations and dinner talk and long skirts. of mimicking the broken record players we both have that neither of us play.
heights: of being unable to stop myself from falling, being so far from the ground i can barely see it and then way too close all at once. of splintering my heart against cold concrete. of becoming a chalk outline, nothing more. maybe less.
ghosts: of being haunted by the past, of it always coming back. of holding things that aren’t there, holding things that wish they weren’t. of feeling hands on my shoulders, pushing me forwards, being walked right through. of being unable to move on, of never seeing light.
fire: the old flames that can consume you if left unattended. of the scars that already line my ankles turning from pink to red. of holding matches and forgetting to drop them, of not stomping them out. i am afraid of third degree burns.
the dark: of reaching towards you to grab ahold of your t-shirt so you can lead me through the blackness but feeling nothing at all. of not being able to see your eyes. of not being able to see you. of being left in your basement with only my empty fingertips to guide me.
needles: of being put under, where i cannot stop myself from saying the wrong name or forgetting the things i should know by heart. of having strangers in my veins, of someone else having the ability to take me apart again. maybe this time i won’t make it. oh god, i sure hope i don’t.
theartofmadeline
dededos
baratheonpilled
areudirty
titsay
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
