limerence.

... 𝙔𝙊𝙐.

It was just like lightning. A flash. The green and growing world I once knew was now burning. And I still carry the ash in my core. Don't you dare tell me about the seeds we are planting. Not when I can still smell the smoke on my own skin. I carried the dirt for two decades and said I was grateful for the piece of me the sun set free. But I'd rather rot than be buried again.

They say the sun gives you cancer.

You were the sun in my eyes.

So maybe it would be best if you bury me again. At least then, I can grow and know where I belong. And when you call me a weed, I can breathe a sigh of relief. I am tired of pretending to be pretty. Pick my petals. Step on me. Then ask me why I am covered in dirt. At least when I am under the earth, I can find my roots. At least it doesn't hurt.

So keep your sunshine.

I can't stand the way it burns.

Don't you dare pretend that you ever cared. I was a chess piece. A knife. You liked my sharp edges. You used them to slice up your own life and then you left me there, dripping with your blood, and blamed me for being just another scar. That's who you are, isn't it? A collection of the people who hurt you. Never stopping to think about the damage you leave behind. Never wondering what it feels like to be on the other side. To be cracked back open and then called broken. But this time around, I was not the monster under your bed. That was your own head.