+ Words, words, words. +

I’m still getting caught in my mind. Too many things catch my eye and force themselves inward. I crave heat. Lines and corners close me down until I pick up eyeliner in a no-commitment attempt to find change. So scared, so safe; be ashamed. I can hear the bass. And I can hear silence. Distracted by skin, I live through women who have no reputations and borrowed bank accounts. Faux hawks, full sleeves, I almost had you. I trace the edges of serifs in my minds eye and am too scared to dig them into my skin. I can’t remember the last time I could breathe. I tried last week with a cigarette but the winter air slapped me across the cheek for thinking I could do such a thing here. I stain white things on accident and innocent things on purpose. You were my outlet. I make plans to rip open necklines in hopes of using my collarbones as reminders that the sun will come. I choose heavy boots to prove to my thin legs that I’m walking; walking is moving; moving is progressing; progressing is finding what I had, right? I’m fine, really. I just can’t live without extremes.

there’s something scratching at my heart
and
it’s bleeding to get out
and
i keep my hands behind my back
so that
it’s not my fault when it gets loose
but
i need you here to hold me down
so
i can sever all these roots
will you
silence all this lace that’s slowly
been
tearing at my face
because
i’m unsure of the violent nature
that
it’s showing signs of taking
and
i need a witness to my faith
that
i’m only changing shape
not
in the beginning stage of breaking