Digging graves for possible me's, it's an epidemic and my epipen won't fix this. Breathe in, breathe out, no shout, keep your voice low, and channel your rage with the sadness in tow. Always in second place, frustration wins every time it's-- frustrating. Then you cry because it's what you do well.
I want to find someone who will be both my complete opposite and perfect match. Different but yet the same. Inverse melodies in complimenting keys and hearts that rock to the same beat. I want to be made of the same stuff as you, just in a different package. I want someone who understands me so completely because I am them and they are me, even if we look nothing alike.
Don't fit on the couch, but there's space on the floor. I could lay with the dust bunnies while the edges of the rug cradle my skull. Maybe if I'm lucky I could lean my head against someone's knees, or brush up against a hand or arm. Always held by the dirt and the ground, like my bones know where they belong and their destiny. I am meant to breathe, live, and die, over and over. Waking up every day like being born again. One day when I gently lay my head down to rest for the final time, I hope something other than the floor holds me.
merry crisis
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