For the past few days I’ve been obsessed with the feeling of scolding hot water over my back. I need the shower head to become emotional as she bursts over my shoulders.
It’s when steam fucks the mirrors against the tiled walls like a breath exhaled by an unknown lover, that I can angrily scratch those sentences that have been clogging up my arteries across my reflection, like regretful handprints on foggy car windows on days when the bed wasn’t warm enough.

I can turn her off…stop her from screaming, from purging. I can be her saviour and shut off the tubes that bring forth that boiling liquid that tears away at her lungs when she decides to break down with me. But when I turn the knob and watch the room clear, the words against my mirror slowly disappear.
I wish she’d come to life and cry on my shoulders again, so that I’m not the only one.

I’ve been frantic the past four days, and every morning she calls for me, drip by drip. A soft patter that turns to sobs. She calls for me to remind me…but you’d have to cry glitter for sadness to be beautiful.

In the corner of my jewellry box huddle beads that tore away from a neckline, to find a hand that can confine gloss like a wet kiss upon bare shoulders.
I found her… inching past the outlines towards the center…knowing that there is more substance at the core. It’s where the ageless plastic dancer prances in circles…her legs pointed towards the ceiling. Sometimes instead of wearing those vintage earrings, I drape them across her arms and watch them spin into dots of deep yellow, like a light flickering over a still street at a dangerous time of night.

Most times I feel just like her…surrounded by jewels but locked up and stranded with the same tune playing day after day…..

I tore her legs off yesterday, so she’d stop twirling…
The more I watched her, the more I choked on my own air…

I like to pretend that I’m invincible, but it’s all a front…

It’s days such as these that leave me wanting to pull the covers up tight while ignoring my alarm. Days when I am questioning my decisions…my goals…my purpose…my strength…
Sometimes I just don’t know what the fuck I want, yet other days I am crystal clear. I have been lazy this week. My workouts are half assed, if at all, and my eating leaves MUCH to be desired…
I’m exhausted, and I can’t shake these thoughts long enough to welcome a temporary coma.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it up…I told you not to get your hopes up” he says with a snide tone…

Is this it? Are we done?
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