⠀there is stability in self-destruction, in prolonging sadness as a means of escaping abstractions like happiness. rock bottom is a surprisingly comfortable place to lay your head.
"something about you's never sat right with me," mama spoke softly, but not without scorn, "you were never like the other children. i knew you'd taken after your daddy, when i found you that one summer evening all bruised up and with that look in your eye. that look there."
deep inside of me stirs a love that is deranged and sick. if i had a choice, i would love you to the point of suffocation. but would you still love me? could you still love me, despite everything?
⠀you are embarrassed about your blood, its redness, the way it is just coming out of you with no concern for anyone’s feelings. you are (…) embarrassed to be alive.