I want to stab you in the heart, and corrupt every vein throughout your body. I want to squeeze out every last breath out of your lungs and leave you there to panic the same way I did. I want every corner of your mind fixated on the dismemberment of your own life. Everything that has ever happened, or is happening, or will happen stuck in your thoughts from the second you wake up to the last moment of the day. I want you gone.
Month: November 2017
My imploding ways
There are words too afraid to leave my fingertips, words that could only be spoken through the touch of your spine, the soft bumps lined down your delicate body.
I can’t stop thinking of these…things, these ideas.
Ideas that aren’t complete, ideas I can’t compact enough words into to display them. My mind can’t help but trod on forbidden lands, painful wounds that are freshly sewn together.
Rough days with no written pieces
I don’t know, it’s rough these days. My hand trembles with every sentence I write down, these unfulfilling thoughts pulling at my heart strings. I have so many emotions, so many messages I must send you, but they never make it past my fingertips.
Avoiding the silence
I can longer get through the nights without your touch in my mind. I’m getting lost in the beats of every song cycling through my headset, every beat reminding me of your heart. Every slow beat pumping my body, keeping my life afloat. From night to night, I find new songs to spiral through on repeat. I never find myself reaching the end, knowing that the dead silence that sinks in after lights out will pull me deeper into the ocean.
Foreign metal
A small round bump felt through the thin layer of my head, followed by the lines of hair falling from it. The tiny nerve regrowing, remembering the foreigner that decided to stay. The trail lost but found behind the cliffs of my ear, hidden gently into my skin. But if you press hard enough, you can make out the tiny map of a memory, a painful reminder of reasons. These small features of myself will always be a mixed bag of emotions; the beauty of sound, yet the cruelty of a flaw. I’ve had my Cochlear Implant for almost eight years now. In all that time, I had moments of appreciation, of happiness towards having a second chance at hearing. But there were also moments of pure hatred, of this overwhelming feeling of crushing it with whatever blunt object I can find. I never quiet this outright, but I hate that in order for me to hear, I had to invite such foreign beings into my life. The same ones that cause me immense headaches, degrading looks from strangers, and the deterioration of my own confidence.