‘why are you digging?’ i don’t think you understand the mechanics of digging, actually. scrabbling for purchase against the dirt. cause it’s this or open air. i need to hold onto something.
i didn’t understand what it was like, when i saw you sway. you needed… something. you refused the wall, you refused to scrabble [like an animal]. you walked and held your head up high and if you ever stumbled only allowed yourself an extra second with your face against the [dirty] floor to recover.
anyway, that’s then. now i couldn’t watch if i tried, though i’m sure it’d be something new. you don’t dig but you let yourself lean against the wall, cause it’s not like there’s room for pretenses. you save your energy, trying to recoup someone (something? someone? some- fuck it, it doesn’t matter, right, right? ri) that cannot be. i, or maybe the proper term is he? no, i - am gone, except for this, this moment, this lapse, break in foundation, mistake in pattern, offcolor. explaining the unexplainable, or maybe it’s just not explainable in my words, or maybe the explanation is beyond all words. you know, i sit in my room (i’ve finally chased him off. i want him back, even though it’s been seconds or minutes or - time is beyond us all, you know? i want him back, something in me aches for him, and it isn’t something, it is everything except for the one fault left which says these things, which locks the door even if soul, all i could ever want, all i have ever wanted, everything and everything and - except for you. except for you. you could never be him. and i detest that and yet sometimes i am able to appreciate what you are. sometimes, sometimes, it’s all about sometimes, now). i sit in my room, and i wish i could see, so i could see what my hands look like against your throat, the purple - sharp, dangerous, though i’ve learned more ways to hurt (make anew, this is not hurting, this is not hurting you fool, Fool, this is making anew, this is supposed to be and always has been, this is holy, This Is -) than when i used them - nails, mine. mine? is my body mine still? no, because of the bruises on my neck and the lipstick on my cheek? no. no, because it was never mine.
language spotty and meandering and twisting, you know the center it careens towards right? i can’t find myself putting them in lines, the sentences, the words, ‘identity’, cause i know none of my words could matter so much as my actions, so much as the dirt under my nails, digging, digging my grave cause i know this is my grave. you think i don’t know? do you? (who are you. tell me. what do you think i am.) (i could never have so much presumption as to name myself. i don’t know, I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE, TELL ME! I NEED TO BE TOLD! and i have been told and i’m sure he’s right, just except for how i’m oh-so-sure he’s wrong and i need to run into your room and lock the door.) regardless. i know. regardless of whether it’s right or not i know. i don’t know what scares me more, the lapse, the fault, or everything surrounding it. this is right, except for how wrong it is, how wrong it is to indulge in something other than Him. i was always meant to be hollow. i can’t believe i tried to fill myself with an identity i am not beholden to.
soul pushes me down, smooths over my cheek with his thumb, smearing the already-smeared lipstick. i’ve learned to breathe in the water. sometimes i can think past it, even if for just a moment, and think about his smile. i know he’s smiling down at me, as he whispers sweet nothings my ears can’t comprehend. i wonder what his smile looks like, far more than i wonder about you actually admitting your feelings, stilling against the floor.
he’s right and everything else is wrong. fallacy.
you know i love him, right? you know he loves me? you say he’s breaking me. (sometimes i think you’re right, but-) he is not. he is arranging me how i always should’ve been. and you think- you think that this is all for Whole, and of course it leads back to Him, but did you know i love him, and he loves me? he’s never kissed you the way he does me, cradled your head, smiled against you. you’ve never felt soul allowing himself to be happy. you’ve never felt him properly.
if only you believed. i want you. i just want this more. but i’m sure, if you believed, you would love him just as much as i do. this is supposed to be shared. never me without you. never soul without you.
i’m so tired. i wish you were here. i would lean against you as i digged our grave, interlock our dirt-covered fingers. it would be nice. it is nice, with soul, it’s just - not the same. okay? okay? are you going to come back? anything besides Whole was always a pretense. just get out of that bathtub. cleanliness was always another pretense. and i know you’ll hate that, but you won’t have to hate it for long, and i’ll be there digging our grave with you, dearest. okay? come back?
(maybe next time you tell me the truth i will hear it.
what a funny joke, isn’t that, dearest?
this is the truth.)