(don’t) bash my skull in

sometimes, i feel like a kid again. running cold, cold, cold, from heart to blood to fingers to the look in his eye. i don’t love right. i am push and pull. i am the bite and the tongue smoothing it over. i am the siren and the sailor. i don’t understand why. he does not hold it against me, i hold it against myself.

i am grounded by my past as much as i am haunted by it. you can wash away blood with water, but you will bleed again under blacklights. i think of how good the wet grass felt. i think of how i almost found a home. he does not hold it against me, i hold it against myself.

i will never be the same person i once was. it is a promise i made to myself. it is hard to believe when my hands are still cold. it is hard to believe when i still feel so small. i find myself wishing for fragile things so i can watch them fall apart. i find myself being the fragile thing.

he does not hold me, and i hold it against myself.