Have you ever loved someone so much, it's not the first question to be regarded in any association but rather who am I? Who am I? When alone and desperate. We would not even chase each other in sign language.
I form myself into a ugly childs pose and cry pathetically on the cold floor of my bathroom, I'm losing hair and my scalp takes on the similar state of the hard texture that grinds against my knees and the cold embeds itself into my forearms. I think to myself, not in an inhale or an exhale. I can't look in the mirror because why are you there and why I'm I scared? I thought I loved you.
After a long absence I can't help but tell myself it's a habit to hurt, because who was there, I was. I was through it all.
And why aren't I asking myself was my love enough? Left with this measly crisis of Identity.
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诗歌TW' trauma dumping read this in an accent, thank you. Yes, all thoughts are authentic but never original. This kills me, so I search. It would kill me less if all authenticity didn't claim healing is a forgetting through the passage of time. That t...
