i spend my days sighing away, digging away at each layer of disillusionment. when will i get to the bottom of this? when do i get to see my bones, all bleached out to a lifeless tan? when do i get to poke them around like live coals, desperately reviving a dying fire? when do i get to see myself, in my highest, truest, most foolish form, and have the closure — both underwhelmed and overwhelmed?

i've lived longer than my younger self would've allowed; tell me, did she know me much better? did she live just long enough for me to inherit her despair? have i gone dancing too much with illusive lights, only to get home heavy, burning, and blinded? did she know it all along? did i know it all along?

tell me, was it all for this? tell me, in the name of all my splendid highs and in the drawn-out silence thereafter  — is this it?

when will the world quiet down into a throbbing, feeble ***** that i can so easily crush?

i tire myself out. i bite on my heart and spit it out — press my fingers on the dents, the teeth marks, the parts that are supposed to hurt. and i watch as it breaks into a thousand glasses. dreams. futile daylights. i watch, ever so quietly. i watch, unfeeling.

in bed, shrinking to the smallest space my skin and bones will allow. in bed, with my sorrows growing, sprawling out in every direction, all for the world to see.

how can i go and fade quietly when my hurting is a loud, lurid spectacle under flashy, purple lights?

february is inside me like a cursed fetus. it eats away at my ribs, making a gap big enough for me to sink into a quicksand of motionless hours and crumbling bones. i hate myself for having written these words, but february beckons with ghostly arms and i shrink to myself like a well-trained beast — step into my hollow chest and crawl farther and farther than before never to be seen again.

someplace else, icarus has taken one look at the sun and recoils like a banished angel. lo, the cheerless shadows befogging. lo, the waxen wings he clipped — swallowed by solid ground. lo, the skies melt above the sea, in horror, as he falls in place over his bones and sinks into his sunless chest.

the piercing screams of insults
ones that became engraved in your subconscious
just to be written in the back of your heart with a knife
another scar to add to your extensive list

run

like a plane crashing to the floor, millions of pieces breaking off in the air
similarly to how she always manages to fall apart in the most volatile way
each level of insanity leading to another part of my body becoming a target
she always manages to find another target

run

the wrath consuming me
years of pent up frustration, i eventually become my own worst enemy
all because of what? someone else's words? some insane person's actions?
but i can't control it, i can't help it, i can't do anything but think of the worst

run

in my fantasy, i'm soaring through the night sky
while a multitude of lights are shining beneath me
knowing my end, knowing my impending doom
but in that moment, i know she can't hurt me anymore - so i win

you can't run anymore. the run is over.