here we are and i'm not sure why my stomach feels like this but it makes me want to scream really loudly until everything spills out so i can just eat my fucking dinner. it's not about want or need it's about that memory fire that starts burning so hard and it pricks at my skin in a way i don't really understand but i wish i could because then maybe i could control it, control myself. make everything bad turn good. remember how much better being alone is when you're not waiting for someone else. there's nothing i can point to nothing i can comprehend just that fucking memory fire scorching through me just that burnt smell of my skin reminding me how hard i can cry sometimes. the cats are coming in- crawling around our house, up the walls and down again and they sleep in my lap when i black out and chew on my fingers when the blood stops circulating. there are things pounding down on this keyboard- things that i want to say, want to do. there are memories swarming around me and earlier i kept letting them slip out and that truth would just be hanging between us, a bastard child of some other time and i wanted to pick it up, give it a kiss let it know that i still loved it. but we could only ignore it, because that's what happens now. we know everything but we keep it wrapped under because reminding each other of what we tasted like on the bridge or how sometimes peach juice would coat my lips or how the silence that used to build up so tall next to us- all of these memories would get to knocking down this oh-so-carefully manufactured wall we've constructed so guard us exactly from these things. so none of it happened, or none of it was supposed to have happened, or they happened but everyone should just pretend they didn't and the ignored memories start burning up, smelling like dead bodies and we wonder what all this smoke is around us. And how the fuck do we get away from it....
i'd love so much to have my stomach all in one piece.
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