here i am:
black blood grey thighs. i've turned over and over and all i can find is melancholy. raven beaks and broken dolls— i feel like this all the time.
i can translate words into french and make pretty pictures with my words, all to fill a hole in my lung; it will never make me good again.
i could imagine myself hanging off a bridge with one foot tied to the edge, the other dangling past my ear. raggedy ann and andie, straw hair and cotton skin.
sometimes i can feel lumps of coal gathering themselves in my throat, ash burning the roof of my mouth. smothered out any light that remained in me- made a home.
i can try so hard, so so hard, but ill never make it past the fire.
so here i am,
sitting down,
bleeding dust and feathers.
