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.