By _creamtea_

And it's cold and it's dark and oh god please don't hurt me and I'm a shattered glass mess of punctured-balloon lungs and are you happy now.

Are you happy now that I've served myself up, bloody rib-starved hollow reaching, reaching for anything that might stop this from hurting.

Stop me from eating myself alive like a rabid animal, chasing myself in circles until my feet bleed red from the stones because I can't make sense of what's going on in my own fucking head.

And is growing up supposed to feel like this? Like I'm shrinking into myself and burning up and honestly it's less like drowning and more like suffocation because there's sand clogging my throat and  I. Can't. Breathe.

Because if I breathe you'll notice me and then you'll rip me apart with those monster claws and devour me whole because isn't that just what I deserve. Because then nobody will come to my funeral and all I'll be able to do is scream through the dirt while you laugh

And laugh

And laugh.