Unsent Messages

they told me I have to open my hands if i want to be held, but my fists still remain balled.
instability is sort of cosy you know, an extra duvet to dispel the dark and chase the cold,, i think i love you.

smashing my face against the wall again and i dont want to have to wake up this time. I hate myself and I dont want to ever let go. I can’t even fucking talk about it. the only love i was taught was silent, so i find equanimity in your empty hands that refuse to hold me,,

orbiting empty space.

i hate all that i write,,,. continuity, perpetuity, temporary victory. I fucking hate it I hate It I hate It I hate it
I just want you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay. Is that selfish? I don’t care about anything else. I just want you to hold me. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it