tadpole

so i’m wading by the shore, and everything is fine, tadpoles slipping between my toes. but there are monsters living in these waters too. i know that–even if i’ve never gotten one alone. so i’m sure to be extra-careful on the long walk home.

cause there is a god out there, what if he just doesn’t give a shit? cause millions of people have lived miserable lives, determined by factors completely out of their control. and i don’t think you understand, that this not being my fault may as well be the scariest thing in the whole wide world.

’cause if it’s not my fault, then the pain i feel is out of my control. i’d rather blame myself than be the victim, so here we fucking go.

when i was younger, they told me that the second i held a hammer, the whole world would start to look like a nail to me. they said it like a bad thing. but i’m pulling up the drawbridge, i’m closing the gates, and sleeping with one eye open because the world is out to get me. and i’m doing fine! i’m doing great!

except the crocodiles are snapping at my feet, and the mud flats hold depths i don’t want to know; rain knocking down my spine like buildings of old. and i’ll be all right. paint the prettiest stories on the back of my hand to look at, when i get sad. try to remember what the therapist said, and laugh at her stupidity.

’cause i definitely know better than the people who care about me.

twisted

it’s funny, how old habits always die hard. by which i mean, that i know logically the voice in my head is full of shit. but i still do exactly as it says, just to be safe about it.

let it rest its greasy hands on my shoulders. tell me what to say, and do. because it’s kept me safe so far. it loves me, really. just like you. it slips inside my throat, and pulls the strings, ever-so-quietly.

and half of what it says isn’t based in reality so i’m sorry, if i’ve got my head in the clouds, it’s just sometimes i think my mind is one big cobweb, and i am the fly. if i could disappear into the floorboards, i would do it in a heartbeat, and i still don’t understand why.

but sometimes, it feels like i’m walking through a dream. sometimes i collapse on my bed, and let its warmth sing me placid, and safe. wouldn’t that be better? if i just stayed in this room for the rest of my life, where everything is okay?

and i still don’t know why i let you strip away the layers of me, calloused armour built up over years, only to shatter like ceramic as you strike me to the core. i’m sorry, my dearest love, but i can’t do this anymore.

and yet, as i stare into your eyes, i still can’t cut the fucking cords.