Please note that, with rare exceptions, any and all names mentioned in this blog are pseudonyms except our own. We want to be able to speak freely without doxxing anyone.
dancing off the edge of the world tired of all the motion and the sickness it's been five years and I'm not sure if I've gotten better or so much fucking worse
(I feel like a walking corpse) (a snake in your garden)
I still hate you for what you did except I tell myself I no longer care
I still build bridges to spite the anger and the fear you drilled into me I still flinch when someone knocks on the door or a bell rings too loudly or when someone looks at me too close what could they possibly want to know what could I possibly have to offer them
it couldn't be anything genuine, I thought for the longest time those curious eyes must be another face I'd inevitably want to spit in
but no, five years later, I find I simply want the luxury of not having to see your face when I close my eyes and never having to hide myself from you or the world again
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