17, Still Can't Swim

fourteen

i saw a skeletal man but with eyes crimson red. he wore a black cloak summoning the darkness with a scythe wrapped in his ash-skinned hand.

you told me if he visits again i should imagine my mum getting a call late at night from the town sheriff. funny because then i'd think a dead body under the bridge would give a hint of a smile on her face.

she'd celebrate my death like it's the birth of her freedom and it won't surprise me. if there was one thing in common between my mum and i it's the only thing that would make us the same: we're bonded by a bloodline of half-finished wretched stone figures in the nine hells setting themselves aflame.

the skeletal man visits so often now that i can hear my mum's voice way back in first grade. the voices, they become louder as i record their pitches on my wrist. one line after another, slit by slit. the blade seems dull and blunt but i could still see a color of a wondrous reminder that i am still alive, and you're not here to stop the bleeding anymore.

๓.
delilah