ticktickboom24

i am in love with burning, but i am out of matches, which is to say sometimes, i think of myself as a house, except the house is empty, and cold, and no one lives here anymore - the house is empty and i have no matches so i am the match and i am the house but the house is empty inside - so i light myself on fire just to feel alive. i'm sorry, i told you, let's be honest this time, and i meant it. let's start over. okay. this time, i'm a kitchen, except the groceries were left out on the counter, and they're rotting, and the cabinets are all open but no one looks inside - and how on earth can anyone make dinner like this? i could light it a

i am in love with burning, but i am out of matches, which is to say sometimes, i think of myself as a house, except the house is empty, and cold, and no one lives here anymore - the house is empty and i have no matches so i am the match and i am the house but the house is empty inside - so i light myself on fire just to feel alive. i'm sorry, i told you, let's be honest this time, and i meant it. let's start over. okay. this time, i'm a kitchen, except the groceries were left out on the counter, and they're rotting, and the cabinets are all open but no one looks inside - and how on earth can anyone make dinner like this? i could light it a

oh no not another dead body, i am so sick of digging graves, i am so sick of wearing black, i am so sick of other people crying about the loss of someone they never really noticed was alive in the first place, i am so sick of this but you aren't allowed to beg off a funeral, you aren't allowed to take leave of mourning, that's not how this works, there are standards to be upheld, expectations to follow, someone else's footsteps to tread in like they aren't the wrong size, the wrong pace, the wrong way, i am so sick of going the wrong way, of not being allowed to own up to being lost, of being lost, of not being allowed to own up, oh no, not a

it takes three voices to weave fate, but only one to forge a chain of actions and reactions, all of their interactions, melted down and reduced to their lasting consequences. then melded shut and looped together, laying out a trail, a trail i'm set to follow, leading to my jail. no silken threads, no breadcrumb trail, but a prisoner's parade, marching to the guillotine in the very chains i made.