Comments 2


I don’t like the way my stomach churns when I think of you and the way that my mind ties itself into knots at the thought of your lips near someone else. And I don’t like the way that I care even when I insist I don’t. Trying to force myself to swallow apathy inscribed with your initials, hoping it’ll cut some string that attaches my heart to every other bone in my body. I don’t like how you make me feel, I don’t like how you’re the only one who can make my heart fold into patterns of unfamiliar color schemes I didn’t know I could create, making me reach for a type of existence I never thought I’d crave.

But “I don’t like you”

“I don’t like you”

“I don’t like you”

…is played on repeat like some scratching record I forgot to turn over.

Neglect it, pass it around, crash it on my hallway floor until everything breaks and shards of glass start to embed into my skin. With my back against the wall, I’ll try to erase every inch I’ve touched of you. Tearing out pieces of my anatomy to disconnect you from my insides. And in some bloody floor I’ll see your reflection.

And alongside, I’ll still try to imagine mine.


  1. Wow, I didn’t realize you had been writing still, but you have such a heart-breaking and lovely style. Eloquent and perfect.


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