it’s coming and i don’t think i can out run it.
it’s like i was in the middle of a thought when i got sick, spent 10 days trapped in my place, and never finished the thought. like summer was everything before that day my throat burned, and now it’s fall.
i feel heavy. i feel slower. my step is just slightly shorter. more hesitant. my dreams are filling up with promise and loss. there’s so much more shadow i feel like i’m being swallowed up by it. I walk around the shadows but they nip at me. they call out for me.
my enthusiasm is quiet. sitting still in the corner debating which way to throw itself. but while this hesitation happens nothing else is possible. nothing else is really happening but for the waiting.
the crows they caw and caw and it’s not birdsong anymore.
i accidentally read things i shouldn’t on the internet and parts of me crumple up like a crash test dummy. i know.
the fucking wallowing that goes on somewhere in me i can’t reach and can’t hush just murmurs and whines and spreads itself from organ to organ like cancer.
i need to be touched. need to be lied to that there’s more.
i think about tomorrow, about next week, about next month and all i see is the same as yesterday. the same as a thousand yesterdays.
that’s what the darkest is. losing the ability to feel new and alive and it’s coming now. sure and steady with the measured pace of an executioner.
sidelong glances won’t get me out of this.
probably nothing but securing everything that can be made into a weapon as the winds of my heart stir is the best i’ll be able to do.
(via lunar-caustic)
