the tears fall unbidden, leaky faucets that can’t seem to be clogged up no matter how much tissue was used to stuff into the cracks. The tissues just dissolve into a pulpy, splattered mess, but I don’t switch to a more permanent solution.
gasps escape my torn up lips as I raise my face to the ceiling, feeling the scream trapped in my throat, an almost painful experience. There’s no easy solution here because the pain isn’t residing in the centre of my hollow chest. It’s a physical pain not intentionally inflicted by pumps of the fist toward the wall. It’s an ache that can’t be distracted by binges and purges; by numbing agents; by distractions; by redirections.
chills wreck my body, cheeks cracking with the salt trails tracking down, marking out a new contour to my mask.
Meaning and revelations sought out in any and every song, every book, every show about heartbreak and bad love. The ghost of future regrets taunts my heart as my brain leads my vengeful marionette fingers to type out words of anger, spite, hurt and cruelty.
This will not end well again.