I'm young, but with that said, I don't think it loosens my grip on the real. Being in and out of pain and love with my life is something that I struggle with on a daily basis. Losing touch with people I wish I'd hadn’t, into sleepless nights of scrolling. The downward motion is the closest I come to picking you up, and fulfilling my own wishes. Looking at pixel after pixel tells me how much I've lost, learned, and wepted. Be yourself they say, be honest they blog, plenty of fish in the sea -I read. in a tab two away from you. The little glimpse into your manifesto of lost vowels, the little thoughts needed by no one… but me. Helplessly holding on to the thoughts and feelings of days yester. But there is a silver lining to this internal struggle, that regarding the send button. and this is I can always hit delete and remove the thoughts from inside and into a locker for sloppy keeping.

dissolution is something many struggle with and I truly weep for the lost and wandering. Alone only to be swept into some habit, that replaces the bad blood with the sweet silk angel, that habit will become the heroine she once was. cold and cut, half naked wishing for the past, looking for simpler times and remembering the routine. Like that time you woke up back then, the time you shared pillows, or even that time you lost control. Thats right YOU lost control… not her. You. The memories you've fabricated to hide those nights. Knights of lucifer himself turning into mournings of pain, showcasing the hopeless, lost, and confused grip. Nothing but a pulse coursing into you, eyes shot red with vigor and the shallow moans of the defeated. strap tied with a belt searching for a way to regain the lost control.

This is the only thing the brings you back, showing you and her what you've become. Showing her the man she married, is no longer a man, but a confused and scared animal with no escape other than by the brute of blood. That routine has shifted into no more waking up, no more sharing and no more trust. Lost with dammed and laying as if mother was holding you. the bruses that cover her seem to be the only thing you remember, desperately grabbing on to the worlds edge, your world. She is your world, she was your world. And I, Sit lost and alone, waiting for the right moment to atone for my mistakes, never asleep, for there is no rest for the wicked.

I say hello to you and with the absent reply I know what you’re thinking.