funeral

it doesn’t feel like it used to anymore. and they say it’s gonna be okay, but this isn’t how it was supposed to happen, when i played out my cards, and planned each move carefully, in the hopes of steering myself towards a future where i froze still at thirteen, and everyone always stayed.

and i know growth is good, and change comes naturally. but i can feel the daisies wilting in my palms already, poison sumac scratches and storm clouds, filling up my lungs.

i know, i know, i know. i’ve seen it all play out in my mind, i’ve lain awake until 3am, gotten lost in cups of tea and wished for normalcy, but now matter how much i beg and coax it won’t come to me. so fine, let’s run with faux-adulthood, and live in one room; brace for the future and pray to god it comes true.

because it’ll be better, then. and i’ll finally make sense of the half-dead corpses writhing in my palm; as i walk through a half-life, never speaking too loud, and constantly tallying up the score. i’ll fold the laundry up nice and neat, with scraps of self-loathing hidden in the pockets, until i can’t do it anymore.

which i’ll laugh about it later, i’m sure of it. but right now, there’s nothing funny about this. i’m just… sitting near the back row at a funeral, as someone clicks through a slideshow, my mind far away as i wish for amnesia. a fresh start, a clean slate. some rules to follow, and a brand-new god resting on a gleaming dinner plate.

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