𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘.
he often sinks to the bottom of his swimming pool when honey-sweet ichor leaks from his fists. every breath is poisoned by the venom of his father's dead words, and the flushed peonies which were rooted deep into his hellhole-of-a-heart appear to be over-watered now. his mama must be wondering where he's run off to, but she doesn't dare to look out the window, for the sun will drown her in memories too familiar to bear. it's yellow and hot and she can still feel it stinging the small of her back. it's so powerful, so heavy and thick, and her hands start shaking. the sun is selfish and greedy. it reminds her of him. the little boy at the bottom of the pool swallows his pride, and he can't help but to wince at its bitterness.
doctor? i don't think
the happy pills worked.
