graciefaye
ragged on my soul, never good enough to see the other side or what this side really means, I'm flawed, yes, and I know, I can feel it in my guilt and in my bones, but you seem to see the necessity in reminding me of my worth: less.
beaten and tossed like this body is a vessel at sea and the sea gods don't like me much, ragged like so much seaweed and rusted like so many ancient hulls.
I'm just going to keep thinking about you and your chest, bare, and your dick, also bare. Because that is the only way I can distract myself. I think they have a therapy for this... Dick. Sex. Therapy.
Lady, baby, you have no luck; we knew that the day you swallowed your toothbrush whole.
there's a fold in my stom
-ache like
I'm being held together
by clips for paper
for my nausea.
these words are nothing but socially accepted symbolic letters and i am nothing but a secretary at her typewriter copying
boa-constrict my insides, tight, like i'm falling apart, like i'm breathing too much, like you never want to let this shit go because you don't even know what is still to come
stick like strong like our tongues like sharp like sticks and stones and bones that break under the weight of every word we wish we'd never spoke like hate like love like sorry like never like never.
if you want to be the wind then come sweep me up and run through my body, hot and thick or cold and frigid. i just need you to breathe into me. my lungs are caving.
Maybe what I did was wrong. I felt awful every time. I even cried, like, seriously, I wasn't happy. I wasn't really happy with you, either. I just wanted more of you. I wanted to Anis Mojgani you. You want to be the wind.
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