“i don’t know what to think,” i gasped, my voice cracking and throat sore. my eyes are so glassy everything is blurry as the events leading up to this moment. “this isn’t safe,” i stammered to myself, while feeding lies to the simulacrum that stared at me. he stares. they stare. both have a look sewn on their faces, in multiple shades of disappointment and disgust. there are button eyes in one, dark as pitch, the other with eyes the color of both torrential waves and calm oceans in a mix. i love one, and despise the other. the blood beads up at my cuts, and i don’t quite have enough thread to sew up the ripped seams gushing all my colors. “why?” i whimper, sitting on my bed, staring at fairy lights and glaring at spots in my eyes. i clutched the needle and the seam ripper, one in each hand, and didn’t quite choose.