Break me already.


Whenever I’ve reached the peak of a mountain of suffering, I wipe my brow, take a deep breath and start the journey back down so I can be on to the next one.

I’m trying to learn how to sit at the top for a moment and enjoy before I start looking at the wonders that await me at the bottom. That’s my robot mentality coming out. Ticking off that box, ready for my next task.

I just love that struggle. I want the turmoil that comes right before you take your hand off of my throat. Where I can comsume every last bit of air in the room with one sharp gasp. The relief is exhilirating, is necessary, but the second I’m released from that prision, I long to find my way back.

I throw the keys in a place far enough away, neither the guards nor I could undo my decision to crawl back in that space and lock the door.

Break me already. I’m not as broken as I need to be. I feel you chipping away at me. Piece by piece. I’m impatient to feel the weight of you. Destroy me. I don’t want your chisel anymore. Give me the knife. Cut me open. Make me ugly and beyond recognition. Make me a girl no one else would ever want. Make me yours alone.

I’m sick of pretty. Hot bores me. I want to be less than. A crumb on your floor. Begging to be your afterthought.

Fuck me up. Tie me up. Shut me up. Tight.

Tear me up. Rip me down. Make me yours.

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