What are you looking for?
3 months ago · · Poetic Venting, · Explicit
Often, on cold days where I’m wearing my worst and my face doesn’t look quite right in the mirror, I find myself looking out the cloudy bus window where the dead flies settle before they enter Valhalla.
I know there are streets there, but they pass by as if they aren't. It looks sick. No. tired. No. out of place. Out of place.
It’s not that I miss the scars that I had four years ago. The leaves have color now. Light pokes out between hues of green and gray and the shadows from buildings have a cold bluish tint that most people don’t see.
I think my peers have icy hearts. Not in the sense that they are cold. No in the sense that they melt or break with the most delicate touch and they slip us up.
Our spirits break and then break us more. And we become too hot for them and they evaporate. It isn't that we are suddenly weaker than some hypermasculine- mental equivalent of a bodybuilder ideal of the past.
it’s not because we see things through cracks and blue hues. No, we have hearts like everyone else. We just stopped denying their fragility.
you think you write nice words, but they feel like scarecrows. Have you ever let an ice cube melt on your wrist? It feels nice in an ugly way.
Uncomfortable but satisfactory. Maybe that’s why we get close. I thought I liked control until my fingers were in her and the alcohol hit me.
Maybe it was her boyfriend watching. I wretched up all the gumbo. It reminded me of my skinny phase. I used to run a thinspo blog.
I’m sorry if I hurt you behind that profile picture. Men on the internet want to fuck me when I put on the black lipstick and smile.
Her boyfriend is gay now, she doesn’t talk to me anymore. I think she shoots up now. And I feel worse feeling better, I miss the banter of the loft and sitting in a potbelly’s after accidentally cockblocking pink and blue.
I love the versions of people I meet. Then they change but I can’t let go because there used to be something I guess. Parts of their melted hearts mixed with mine and stayed there till It froze over again. I want to be held, but I hate feeling trapped.
And we can’t get close because we don’t know what we are without the distance.
All I know is that there are streets there, but the pass by like they arent. On cold days that feel out of place in the graveyard of the flies.