Holding her is like holding broken glass:
Unlucky and ******* painful.
Yet the mesmerising rainbows dancing in her reflection draws me in.
Complex. She’s complex.
The butterfly wings of her lungs, the raging war of her subconscious.
She’s bizarre.
She is struggling.
Her pain justifies her actions, she says.
The collapsed mask of my face is crumbling, I am desperately trying to piece me back together.
But her shattered skin is slicing into me as I try and hold her too.
I cannot let her shards cascade into irretrievable ruin by smashing into the ground.
I cannot destroy her deeper.
Yet inky red blood trickles down my arm as I try and regain balance.
I cannot hold us both my love.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 3:51 PM UTC
Holding her is like holding broken glass:
Unlucky and ******* painful.
Yet the mesmerising rainbows dancing in her reflection draws me in.
Complex. She’s complex.
The butterfly wings of her lungs, the raging war of her subconscious.
She’s bizarre.
She is struggling.
Her pain justifies her actions, she says.
The collapsed mask of my face is crumbling, I am desperately trying to piece me back together.
But her shattered skin is slicing into me as I try and hold her too.
I cannot let her shards cascade into irretrievable ruin by smashing into the ground.
I cannot destroy her deeper.
Yet inky red blood trickles down my arm as I try and regain balance.
I cannot hold us both my love.
I chose a different perspective on this one by writing about mental health through the eyes of a partner who is also struggling. I’m hoping this highlights how difficult it can be to find the balance between caring for yourself and your lover.