impulsewriter

[impulsewriter]

I have all these words behind my teeth-

Notes app half awake plots scattered between what to have for dinner, please can you take me to work, okay yes, I’ll book flights.

I just, my eyes are open too wide, non blinking, feeling it all.

Feeling nothing at all.

I feel like everything is sinking into my skin in the worst way, all of my feelings are so close to the surface- battery acid in my blood hot against the sun drenched leather of my january skin.

put me in the sea, drown my in my tears- but I need that salt water sting deep in my cuts to keep me awake (alive).

all of my words are choked out, a second; a minute, a reply- too long/to late. a beat, a reply, a month, (a year, five years)- to late, too long. The great pretender, behind her cloud of smoke, her stories, her adventures, her boys, her lies-

white powder, rolled up fives and phone screens in fluorescent bathrooms shoulder to shoulder with some girl that I would’ve died for who doesn’t talk to me anymore

I don’t sleep anymore, I dream and dream and dream about all of it-

#the tortured poets department

[impulsewriter]

I have feelings that I am not allowed to have. But sometimes I refuse to swallow them, love that didn’t know as love will come back as bile in the back of my throat and I retch at the paths that I didn’t take.

These roads not taken stretch and twist past the streetlights in my hometown, the friend that was never a “just a friend” spent prostrate between the red, orange, green

Should I, should I? (No, don’t).

But it’s green eyes (were they green?) and fogged windshields, those grass stains on my knees, your taste on my tongue.

The bruises on my skin took weeks to fade, the bruises on my conscious took longer. Months, years, a decade - now (do you still think of me the way I think of you?

The versions of you, of us; a hall of mirrors. Who were you? And who(what) was I to you? Did I warp you into my favourite tragedy?

Do you dream of me the way I dream of you? Do you choke on the words you didn’t say? (Do you bleed like I bleed). I’m sorry I spit venom and bit you when you tried to touch my face. I was all darkness and regret (I promise there was some good in all of my bad).

I want to talk to you (I can’t now) but my (our) hometime at christmas always makes me think of you- “I’m home” “when can I see you?” “I’m outside”.

I exhale the smoke you breathed into me when you kissed me all those nights…The one time I drank too much and yelled at you to touch me touch me touch me touch me (the only thing I really ever wanted to say).

You still don’t know what I never said- I deleted the messages before I sent them.

What songs make you think of me? I never cared about being the only, I just wanted to be your favourite girl.

(You didn’t want to be lonely).

Now you’re; - The best story I can never tell anyone. Two/ten/fifteen years under your/my skin, the messages I did delete I wish I you could read back (do you bleed like I bleed)? I’m sorry I spit venom and bit you when you tried to touch my face. I was all darkness and regret (I promise there was some good in all of my bad).

Words locked away, the influence on my dopamine drenched seventeen year old brain, drunk on your attention. You still wear my clothes (all these years later)(does she know who’s back you pulled them off of?)&

Did the flames of my anger burn you? It’s twin burned me first (whos heat devoured the other?) (I saw you walk backward at the fire in my eyes)

I don’t remember it, I remember it all.

#the tortured poets department