“cuz usually i just stalk/ & masturbate / & i finally got the courage to ask u on a d8”

and it’s that moment in dark rooms with not even the moon pouring in yet white tinted corners almost as if you’re as smushed as graffit/ in spirals led by hips or morose engrossed feelings/ it’s your heart dragging dragging your head by the gut and letting yourself think that just for a moment it’s returned/ the wanting/ the yearning/ the reaching and not quite holding despite the physical and metaphorical difference/ the opening up and saying too much you wish you could take back but a part of your endlessly overflowing being is with them now and they don’t know what to do with the ball in their court when they don’t know what sport it even is/

it’s the indistinct calling of names/ the numb wanting/ the white tinged orange sadness of watching the movies/ the painstaking jumpscare of the truth of what’s inside you/ the way that you’ll always just be a little bit of a freak about it; you’ll save photos of them and find yourself staring forever. suddenly every thing you’ve listened to or written is about them and you’ll never cope with the fact that everything could circle around to them if you tried and they could easily get anything from you but they just don’t know it because they wouldn’t return it. you know that. they care, but they’ll never love. they’ll care but they’ll never love. and you’ll always be an option but you have to keep a firm leash on your beating to remind yourself that you’re not number one. and if their being is as atomic and stardust crafted, holy matrimony’s fire, stardusts left over intestines shaping with the flakes of the moonlight to create some life, as you say it is, then they’ll never be wrong for the cage they’ve given your heart. the key is stuck inside their stomach and it would kill both of you to tear it out. so you rot. and you rot. and you rot. and you rot. and you rot. and you rot. and you rot. 

 - Breezy , 3/8/25 , 1:40 am