forests

trigger warning: intrusive thoughts, compulsions, desperation, general insecurity

you take me to the woods and i’m writing poetry beside you. the intrusive thoughts scream, and in my head i drown. and in my head i’m writing letters to the monsters who will never read them and there should be a source for all this. there should be a logic. and there should be a reason. i’m a three year old compulsively scribbling all over myself.  my mental illness has me hospitalized in your arms almost tackled. almost broken to pieces because this is the kind of monster that cackles because it knows that if it’s going down, it’s going down with you. and i feel my heart rise in my chest. and i feel like i’m dying inside. on the internet, there are a thousand people telling me their opinions are the only ones to believe and to not trust anyone else, and on the internet there are a thousand people telling me there’s only one i can trust and then they wonder why the confusion is a disease that has set down its roots and made a home out of my skin, and i think it’s trying to graft the hatred it directs toward me onto me, and if i did believe in ghosts i’d say that all the people who have ever hurt me have died and now i know what it feels like to be haunted by something this desperately. and now  know what it feels like for the rush of words in your mind to be unending and ever-blackening, a rainstorm at the verge of falling down on me and when it falls, it’s never any more empty, and maybe that’s because i’m scared of the empty, and maybe that’s because we’re all staring at each other’s broken hearts and i’m in the middle of a forest and i wish i could lift your heart between us like pain is something anyone can ever touch and we could duct-tape it, make a craft out of it, and when we sewed ourselves back into these empty bodies, we’d be all right, but i can’t, and i love you like a sister but i’m not sure it helps and i think i don’t trust anyone but you and i wish that there were more people who made me feel safe like this, and i kind of want to cry because i never realized before that they’re kinda right, that loving someone else and loving yourself are supposed to be the same thing because i didn’t think i was actually a nice person on the inside until i met you and you became my friend and i felt kinda happy and i kinda ok, and i think i actually make you happy. and my thoughts are spinning around. and i want to cry, but i don’t, because i can’t cry about everything but i just wish that for a moment, my head could stop twisting. stop whispering. a thousand words and rumours circulating, and i just wish i could be happy. happy. because. happy is like a star to me, and sometimes i cling to it and sometimes i hold it. but my arms are weak. and every time, a small part of me knows i’ll fall, eventually. and  i hope that small part of me is just lying, because i want this to stay. and i want to be worth something. and i want you to just tell me it’s all right one more time, because then my brain would listen to me, only i don’t. not really.


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