I'm so tired.
The weight of my body melts underneath the rubble of my thoughts. I am a floating consciousness, a hysterical nothing theorized by egotistical teens in sketchbooks.
I am only what you percieve I am, so all I have been through traces along my skin, little tan lines left from steel kisses. I am more than my flesh though.
I am the ball of knots making its way back up your throat during a hangover, and the dust bunny gaurding your untouched toothbrush.
I am the rot settling into your bones as burnout works at your soul.
I am a throbbing consciousness, one line of cold soaked promises of forever from ascension.
I hope I haunt your empty husk like a termite might haunt an attic, and when you recall how we got here I hope you cry.
While you're lying in thought I hope I linger, a first kiss burnt onto your lips.
I hope your heart takes a lashing, for I spent months choking down sobs in your honor.
☆ In my loving, I hoped to wound you so that your ache might echo my own. ☆
The kind of ache you only get when you're young and stupid.
The kind of poem you only write when nothing feels right anymore.
And the kinda girl who's simmered down into
a suicide note.
Goodnight.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 1:11 PM UTC
I'm so tired.
The weight of my body melts underneath the rubble of my thoughts. I am a floating consciousness, a hysterical nothing theorized by egotistical teens in sketchbooks.
I am only what you percieve I am, so all I have been through traces along my skin, little tan lines left from steel kisses. I am more than my flesh though.
I am the ball of knots making its way back up your throat during a hangover, and the dust bunny gaurding your untouched toothbrush.
I am the rot settling into your bones as burnout works at your soul.
I am a throbbing consciousness, one line of cold soaked promises of forever from ascension.
I hope I haunt your empty husk like a termite might haunt an attic, and when you recall how we got here I hope you cry.
While you're lying in thought I hope I linger, a first kiss burnt onto your lips.
I hope your heart takes a lashing, for I spent months choking down sobs in your honor.
☆ In my loving, I hoped to wound you so that your ache might echo my own. ☆
The kind of ache you only get when you're young and stupid.
The kind of poem you only write when nothing feels right anymore.
And the kinda girl who's simmered down into
a suicide note.
Goodnight.
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