They want to escape, I know, I know.
I can feel the ache in my bones and the voices in my mind and the words in my throat.
I can feel every scrap of me, pulling itself out from the roots.
Deconstructed, as a sentence.
I want to be picked apart and analysed until everything can be ordered and labelled and filed away in separate, clean brown boxes.
I want everything that I’ve ever done to be dissected and separated until my past is nothing
but a few shreds of words; possibly spoken – but impossibly ambiguous.
Words which scream will never leave you.
I want to fall between the cracks in the words, perpetually imbedded in the spoken sentences. And I will be made of words, nothing more and nothing less.
Everything that I’ve ever wanted to be.
Gripping those messy words,
as tightly as you are now, will tear your palms open. Everything will get louder and softer at the same time.
The world pauses, a repetitive asphyxiatingly muted track. The words scream against each other, so now you’re stuck between them as I am.
They create an ocean so blue, I want to sink to the bottom and never look up.
now, would be a good time to