Tw: mentions of rpe, sxual *ssault, *buse

Falling…
I never realize it is happening
Until the butterflies in my stomach turn to whirlpools
Until I wake up and realize that I’m on yet another roller coaster
It is as though I am walking towards an open door that leads to peace
But it closes on me as soon as I reach for the doorknob

Falling…
I see it in the palaces made of words in fairy tales
I see it in the flashes of images on a blank screen that light up a dark room
Why does falling in those places always end in a happily ever after?
Why do those images and palaces look so different…
From when I fall?

Falling…
Why does it look like hidden smiles, forehead kisses, and long hugs in the rain on the screen
While I watch my own kingdom be invaded by conquerors who only see me as a prize
Why do the words say that it daring, exciting….or even like the warmth of a comforting fireplace
But every time I fall, I feel the glass shards pierce my palms and my knees…
As spears of grief pierce my heart as I see how far I’ve fallen and what could’ve been…
The realization of how pieces of me will always remain in shards, even if they are glued together
Why do I see the magical spells conjoin the sparkle of love struck eyes
While my falling feels like the shackles of a cursed cycle of losing myself
Where my mirror on the wall erases everything and recreates a perfect illusion for another

Falling…
I hear it in the guitar strings and the chords of love songs
It sings of midnight dances in every note, synchronized hearts in every beat
Why does it sound so different from what I hear?
Why does mine sound like ignored protests and whispered pleas of “do not hurt me”
Or like silent teardrops running down one’s cheek
Why does mine sound like the unheard gasps that are muffled by pillows at 12 AM?

Falling…
The fairy tales, the screen, the songs…all mention that falling smells like roses
Well, I guess that is the one thing that is true…
For one only seeks rose petals for their beauty and their sweet smell,
But they always forget that even with the most beautiful things, there are thorns too