CURE

[scabpicker]

I still dream about you. I dream about holding you again, being held by you again, talking, laughing, living out an entire life with you. I really hate those dreams. I wake up and I’m heartbroken at my reality. But then I remember your reality and I’m happy that you’ve found a more carefree happiness you deserve. And despite the tears, I’m still glad.

[scabpicker]

It’s so easy

To make me fall.

Don’t touch me.

There’s an ache in my chest

And my mouth is sour.

[scabpicker]

The first layer

There is a dragon in our home.

His venom is loud inside my head. His claws scratch hard on the walls. They never land on us but deep inside reach the echoes and ripples anyway. Trapped. A prisoner’s prisoner, a frozen time traveller, and my weeping heart in the grip of a demon I can no longer deceive.

[scabpicker]

Almost gone

It’s probably my doing. I push people away and isolate myself. We speak less. We meet less. And when we do, it’s all superficial. Sometimes I wish I could talk about the same things they do - a job, a partner, a house. But there’s nothing in my days except pathetically salty or bloody battles that always just bring one more aching day. And they used to cautiously listen, if ever I blurt out my battle tales. But maybe now we’re all weary. And they have their own proper wars. So we go on dancing this awful tango, where they move and I freeze, they turn and I fall. I’m sitting across them and I feel a galaxy between us. I try to speak but my voice and love are lost in the stars.

[scabpicker]

I am still trapped. My hands are wrapped around a padlock I tell myself is keeping shut a door that doesn’t exist. I have thrown the key into a darkness I tell myself is blinding my closed eyes. And I hear the ragged breathing I have always heard, of a monster deep down inside. An inside blotted out by layer upon layer upon layer of abuse, grotesque, and hate. The odour that permeates through the very last layer spits death at all life it reaches as I carry this wasteland, shuffling, from the scorching eyes of the world that moves easy, seeking false and temporary respite only in shutting my eyes in that dark room I tell myself is safe from the monster inside, within me.

[forthewildandfree]

[dawnydoll-deactivated20180421]

[kendrickdaye2-deactivated202304]

[inferrance-deactivated20200120]

[proletarian-revolution]

[natanvance]

[lovehigher]

[onlinecounsellingcollege]

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds.

Anaïs Nin (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

[gracedchin]

[en-tittiez-deactivated20150814]

[lisarayanne]

[passivites]