slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still progress slow progress is still
the mushrooms take from him his bones, to consume and give him back to the soil in which he laid atop. the soil he buried bones in. the earth is softer with him in it. quieter.
the way a starving dog lies down to rest in the sun, the light keeping his fur warm. he does not wake again. the birds take from him his fur, to keep their nests soft for their chicks. the insects take from him his flesh, to feed and house their young.
he said it would be different if i couldn't, and i've been praying and praying and praying that i can't. i've never wanted there to be a god so badly. i can't imagine keeping myself alive to do it. would i ruin myself for him? do i want to?
when i think about it, i felt like being swallowed whole, all of me being stifled. is that what i miss? feeling like i could scream and cry and no one would hear me? it hurts.
it's hard to forget. when i cried, he held his hand over my mouth and shushed me. comforted me, even. i kept quiet, but the tears didn't stop. imagine how it would have felt to have someone find me? that would have been worse than letting him finish, right? right?
she's cold as the night air, and soft as well traveled dirt. she calls to me in a language i do not know, but remain comforted by. i'm unsure when i started thinking of death as feminine. i love her. i know someday she will kiss my eyes and tell me she loves me, too.
would it be crazy if i cut again before my birthday as a present and that way i could say "oh lol i haven't bothered with self harm since i was a dumb teen" or is that stupid