( disclaimer: you will see typos this chapter lol :) too tired to edit )
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❝ and you got me like , oh- what do you want from me? and i tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high.. ❞
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𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐨'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯 - 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲.
"where the hell he at anyway?"
i sit with my knees to my chest in my usual spot as i deeply inhale, taking a puff of the nearly finished blunt inbetween my fingers. i've been sober for way too long and the proof is this morning.
i always have nightmares- night terrors that make me shake and sweat until i wake up crying, covered in my own sorrow and drowning in self-remorse. my mind never fails to remind me of where i came from- that deep down i haven't come far from that little boy with cigarette burns all over his knees whom people would look and touch and pull- only now, i don't let them touch. all i can see when i close my eyes is the faded face of the woman who called herself my "mother" picking out another dress for me to twirl around in for some old man, or some other sob-story.
but today, it was about him- about the boy who sits cluelessly next to me, coughing like a little child in reaction to the drugs i smoke and making me laugh.
it seemed so vivid that it's almost as if i cannot shake the feeling that it gave me, but how can i when i'm scared it will come true?
i can still see it.
the blood on my hands that matched the crimson liquid dripping off the knife plunged into his chest.
his broken glasses.
his snow white, lifeless skin and his frail body- discarded, just like mine.
i love my boyfriend.
so, why is it i dreamt about killing him?
my mind is similar to a lifeless tree; it bears no product other than waisted spoils- i can't focus, i have no particular talent nor affinity for life- i simply occupy space and i'm very much fine with that. there's nothing positive about my mind unless a seed is planted. that seed is the boy who sits next to me; only when i'm around him do the dead roots of my mind begin to wake up and bear fruits of joy, of love- in his absence, i've never experienced any constructive feeling that actually benefited me. he taught me how to feel alive and i guess he's taught me too well, because now more than anything i am aware of the emotion that i've trained myself to shut out.
