I hate how you have taken my mind over completely and that you have dominated over almost every aspect in my life, even to the littlest things. I am made of frustrations and anxiety and hurt because of what you did to me. Still, one day, I would feel myself rise from the ashes. Right now I just can’t seem to feel my feet.
I wish I could shut you off and never have to deal with the trail of damage you’ve left, hoping to find even an inch of validation you can pin onto yourself. But you are too intrusive, too everywhere for me to breathe, and I need a little space before I can finally feel my feet.
I wish I could feel my feet.
Maybe I should try to use my hands, but I can’t grasp onto anything except the ground. And they seem pretty useless, the way they can’t make anything beautiful out of mediocrity. My hands are bloodstains on your shirt and dirt on your cheeks and the tangles on your hair whenever you walk by. I can’t seem to let go of those somersaults and sleepless nights. There are so many reasons, so many things piled on top of one another and you carry them all on your back. You are an atomic bomb and you’ve exploded, scattered all the pieces onto the ones I care about. But they’d only get returned to you, before you build yourself up and explode again in another time.
My strings snapped and I want to let you go. I don’t want to be anywhere near a time bomb and would have to be cautious with my every step for the rest of my life. You’re limiting me. The world is huge and people are people, and you can’t expect them to adjust for you. You can’t expect everyone to just avoid you whenever you walk past, because they can hear the ticking of your heart and see the end flames on your hair. You can’t keep exploding when things don’t go right, leaving people bent and hurt and broken in the process.
You can’t keep breaking people because you’re a time bomb.
I am not going to say anything else, I don’t owe you anything else really. I don’t have to apologize for not turning your timer, for not avoiding you when you were about to go off. Someday, I’ll turn off the lights and finally let go of the cracks on my wall I keep counting when I can’t sleep. Someday, I won’t surround myself with any of your debris, even if your voice still resonates in my head and rings through my mind and takes over me. Someday, I’ll not be made of frustrations and anxiety. But it would be a long time before I can heal.