Knowing me more leads to loving me less.
Or so the saying goes. But is it truly love if theres quantity attached to it? Has love become cheap enough to become currency instead of effort, a plain note instead of raw unfiltered emotion? Since when did love become so uncommon that everything that isn't love is passed off as it is? The questions never seemed to stop.
Truth is love, well love is just a matter of luck. You either get it or you don't. And most never do. To those who don't, you never will. What are the chances that someone will get to know all of you and still stick by? Slim perhaps and maybe even none.
Would I be able to speak after a stiff drink?
Would it break my panic?
Would the sweat stop pouring out?
Slow and deliberate with her words
She'll walk through my heart
Those eyes light a fire in my stomach
Fall apart from the inside out.
-Inside out Duster
I craved the company of those long gone. Shallow breaths were what filled the silence of my space since anxiety took where my blood was supposed to be. My heart pumped anger and second thoughts coursed through my veins.
I bled memories and cried terror. A human shaped hole in the place of my heart ever so familiar but a stranger is all I see. Eyes that glowed softly turned dim and empty as pieces pooled under my feet, bits of everything that made me, bled through the skin of faux comfort i draped upon my entirety. Help wont be given as I never asked but forgive me for wanting something worth fighting over even when i had no strength to turn and toss.