"I know you and I are not about poems or other sentimental bullshit, but I have to tell you that even the way you drink coffee knocks me the fuck out."
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Axel Clark has responsibilities. After his father left and his mother became an alcohol...
Mama never told me how to love Daddy never told me how to feel Mama never told me how to touch Daddy never showed me how to heal
Mama never set a good example Daddy never held mama's hands Mama found everything hard to handle Daddy never stood up like a man
I've walked around broken Emotionally frozen Getting it on, getting it wrong
How do you love someone without getting hurt? How do you love someone without crawling in the dirt? So far in my life, clouds have blocked the sun How do you love, how do you love someone? How do you love, how do you love someone?
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Axel
I felt like tearing my skin off.
My throat itched. My insides itched. My skin itched. I felt like hurting something. I felt like hurting someone.
I felt like hurting myself.
I looked at it again.
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I tugged at my hair, hard. A few strands came lose. I tugged at it again. And again. And again. Anything to distract me from the pain. Anything to take away my anger.
There was an awful feeling bubbling inside my chest – it made my heart ache until I couldn't breathe. Screams caught themselves in my throat; tears caught themselves in my eyes. I was in the terrible position between falling apart horrendously and trying to keep myself together hopelessly and it was just making everything worse.
I dug my nails into the skin of my forearm. They were too short, barely left a dent in my flesh. I tried pinching myself. That seemed to work. It left a mark. I allowed the hatred in my chest to manifest there; I pinched so hard the skin almost broke. The relentless desire to see blood overwhelmed me; I raked my nails over my arm until everything was red. There was still no blood, just violent raw red of grief. Just the violent raw red of loss, of love.
