I wish I had a hold on you like you do, 'til you're blue, 'round my throat-Frank Iero and the Patience, Oceans
Attachment occurs slowly unless you are a trusting child or me. But I am not trusting. My heart has been masticated; different teeth, different tongues. Pieces of me have been swallowed. And yet I hinge myself so quickly to them. I think about thorns and bodily intrusion. I do not associate this with them. I think about ivy obstructions and I want to shuck away my skin. Simultaneously I want to let them in but keep them out. I want them to marvel at the trellis of my ribcage but I do not want to allow them past my sternum. Because I will crack my sternum for them but as soon as it heals they will find the smallest gap they can and slide right through as it has happened before.
Sleep does not occur naturally unless I take pills or hold you. And I am so very tired of swallowing pills. The pills are supposed to keep me from being fearful and yet I wake up to hyperventilation most nights; a trial tried and true. And so I want to let you into my ribcage, and have it not be the cage that it is. I want to let you in and have you want to stay. I want to hold you and not wake up to hyperventilations and tears in my esophagus.
