no matter how gently i hold his hand im still afraid i have claws, claws that may rip his skin apart exposing his bare flesh, his pureness, exposing the starlight flowing through his veins. rivers of it, shifting liquid starlight drawn from the sky into his skin, there is starlight in those arteries, thick like glue, a shade of purple mixed from glitter paint and day old bruises; starlit veins. i dont know how to love apart from devouring. im always checking under the bed for monsters, never the mirror not because i do not know what lurks but because this beast is a part of me i dont know how to kill. and i am sorry. you trusted me to be gentle enough to touch the trigger without pulling but im sleepwalking in an ocean of happiness i cannot baptize myself in; i am sad in a crowd full of happy people. i try and i try and i try to rebel but how can you rebel if you arent interesting enough?
tell depression i said 'good game i almost had your ass motherfucker.' tell my lover i said goodbye and tell goodbye i said hello. tell the nurse to not hold my hand and smile, dont look like my mother, dont tell me i can heal, dont lie to me again, dont you show me what i got to live for, dont make me want this again please dont make me fight because im tired. no i dont want it to be better, better is you trying to fix the brokenness but what if that is all i know? wanting to die isnt the same as wanting to come home and im still trying to remember that.
he always asks me why i can never open up to people and the answer is this; i dont know how to talk about the rabbit hole without accidentally inviting you to follow me so i wont write anymore, because you might accidentally mistake my poetry for an instruction manual.
YOU ARE READING
Unsent Letters.
Short StoryA handful of letters that will never quite get to its intended recipient. NO COPYRIGHT INTENDED.
