I keep telling myself to wake up. Talking to strangers in my dreams. Falling in love with skies I’ll never reach. Casting shadows with the moon- this is all I ever wanted to become.

If you put your hand out to catch me and I twist your fingers, would you still help me? I’m sorry for hanging on too tight- I just can’t balance lately- I’m clumsily tripping over myself:

Eating cake off the fine China. Shattering the crystal. Sleeping in ball gowns. Throwing bottle caps at the chandelier. Smoking cigarettes in the kitchen. Peeling back the wallpaper for the thrill. Catching poison on my tongue. I mean, this is how I break and rebuild, right ? Tell me you understand it like you say you do. I’ll end up storing the lies in my bones and they’ll crack in the fear of it all. The truth only ever hurt my heart anyways.

I can practice my healing but I can’t practice my feelings so tell me which act of grace is more important. Tell me how much I’ve grown. Tell me how much you still care. I walk around the house admiring my destruction and call it something like art. I rest my head on the Persian rug and sink into a sleep for days and days and days. Let the moon take over for awhile. A long while. I’ll see you in awhile. I’ll see you when I need to. I’ll see you when I finally tell myself to wake up. AMT