seventy-five.

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𝒉𝒆𝒓

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

they never tell you how someone still living
can bury themself behind your ribs
begging to be ripped out
red and raw and bleeding
infinitely bleeding just to prove it's real
their voice an echo in your mind
an echo that proves you're still alive
this haunting that exists without death
but not without grief
believe me
i still cried in my bedroom
the ceiling knows the secrets
the rot in my head
spilling out of my mouth
for i am nothing without you
but i am nothing with you either
i fear our love was all consuming
you took all my matches the day you left
i am afraid i'll never talk to anyone
the way that i talked to you
i can never rebuild the boy i was then
they never tell you how your best friend
is your destroyer, your undoing
for i hadn't loved in a while
until you waltzed into my life
like this is some sort of grand ball
or you are on a grand stage
my heart is nought but a performance
they throw roses that cut my fingers
these roses are fit for a funeral
a funeral to the living tucked in my ribcage
those that i cannot dig out
no matter how much it hurts
one day i pray i won't write about you anymore
because they never told me
that you could hurt like this
and i am left to deal with the haunting
and all the rot is my own

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