the words used to flow like silk through my fingertips i used to know exactly how to weave them make them fall into tapestries, hang them from walls emblazoned with unadulterated innocence.
it wasn't until you asked to look at my creations that i realised sunlight could be so damaging my words felt frivolous under your scathing gaze and they stuttered, crumbled. my tapestries fell.
now they're dust and i'm on my knees, crawling grasping fistfuls that seep through my hands you can't write about something you can't feel and now i can't feel anything.