porcelain doll, your ugliness is manifesting on the surface, seeping through the cracks that spread across your skin like wrangling vines, in a battle for dominance. you wish for raining glass shards only to remind yourself of the fragility, the pain, your broken pieces. your smile is plastered across your face, designed to fend off concerns that threaten to expose your inner wounds; but you cannot hide the split ends, the fault lines that divide you into conflicting beings, one constantly drowning the other. you can’t breathe when you’ve been manipulated by your feelings.
so who will love you now
this is what i have warned you about; i know my apologies cascade like a waterfall of regrets off my tongue, until they simmer into a vastness that means nothing to anyone, just noise echoing in an empty world. i never mean to make this about myself but you mean so much to me and my emotions are choking my heart; i literally find it difficult to breathe. the fragments of your shattered heart are in my bloody hands and it feels like a crime, the guilt and pain festers until it is an infected wound. please give me time to heal, to fix, for i am still broken.
celebrating small accomplishments starts to feel like a sin again and i am desperately drowning myself in holy water; praying that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just my train of thoughts desperate to throw me back onto the tracks when i cannot keep track. my lungs are devoid of an athlete’s strength, there’s only so far i can run before the onset of a panic attack, when will it ever be enough, how do you know what’s enough, who do you think you are to know im not trying hard enough, why cant you be like others, an endless string of questions that strangle you with their hook-like curves. the attic you stored your trophy-worthy past is collecting dust and it is choking you; starting to turn into a haunting where the shadows stalk you and the ghost of a better future fades eventually into nothing. because your soul is a wasteland and there is nothing but the remnants of things people used to love.
my train of thought derailed ; the screeching of brakes never stops but it is too late, the lines are breaking, apart. a part of me has been stalled, delayed for ages and how long am i going to wait before fixing the goddamn pieces.
some days i just want to lay on train tracks.
[a/n: in other words i am very frustrated about my lack of complete content.]
you cannot scratch away the feeling that creeps underneath your skin and your head throbs in place of your heart; your organs are shutting down despite desperate calls for help. you cannot reconfigure the mechanisms when there is none to begin with, sleep is just a blanket to shelter you from the harsh reality that is already pounding at your door, you wish it was the grim reaper. every still minute becomes nerve wrecking but your body still sleeps, stays in a coma you wish you didn’t need to wake up from. time is like quicksand swallowing you whole, the guilt consumes you until there is none of you left – only your mouth spitting apologies, choking on the emotions you let your tongue slip.
you don’t want to feel.
you don’t even want to be.
you bury your expectations and set them a thousand feet under the ground. people are reaching for the stars and the child who wanted the moon is now content with street lights for company, a thousand light years from the blinking satellites and airplane lights. santa is not coming, so isn’t the tooth fairy, so isn’t anyone.