Your Bruise
"It's getting bluer and you can't keep faking
that you can't feel this anymore"
that you can't feel this anymore"
It's raining.
It's just about time.
It's just about time.
My spine screams a chill as I plant myself in any stationary formation because I love distancing from comfort. I can't trust myself.
My living room smells like the cold. A comforting cold that I used to confide in when I couldn't help but smile or couldn't stand but cry. I loved it like that. Easy complexities of being young and knowing you're wrong and flawed and free to be. I can't be free to be. Not when I weigh of a boulder on a cliff, ready to take control to lose control.
My bruise. It follows me where ever I go. When I'm singled alone or shoved a crowd, it's there. On me, all over me. Every time I lay down and stare at my ceiling, I can only picture painful things. I can only feel the burns of...
Just give me a second.
My living room smells like the cold. A comforting cold that I used to confide in when I couldn't help but smile or couldn't stand but cry. I loved it like that. Easy complexities of being young and knowing you're wrong and flawed and free to be. I can't be free to be. Not when I weigh of a boulder on a cliff, ready to take control to lose control.
My bruise. It follows me where ever I go. When I'm singled alone or shoved a crowd, it's there. On me, all over me. Every time I lay down and stare at my ceiling, I can only picture painful things. I can only feel the burns of...
Just give me a second.
_
