Incognito

Maybe because now I know nobody's looking. Maybe.. just maybe.

Can I make this your permanent letterbox? I can't seem to reach you every single day, although I would muchly prefer having you tucked in a glass case near my heart, or tattooed on the tips of my fingers, where it hurts most, or so they say. Who are they, again?

For we, my dear, who are special to them are special to each other are special to me. Why? Because we, my dear, are we. You see? It's elementary what I'm trying to say. It's what I'm trying to hide that you should be wary of. But then again, it's only me. How frightening can I be to you?

Don't find meaning in my words, dear. You'll only find yourself questioning, and that's where I always leave you. Am I not more intriguing when you know not what I mean? What does that look signify? What is going through her head? Why did she do that? Why didn't she? Why won't she just..... why?

Too many Y's here.

It's raining outside. I love the chill seeping through my windows. I secretly enjoy getting goosebumps, especially those that run from the back of my neck.. to my collarbone.. down my nipples and to the base of my stomach.

And now, knowing me for me, I will meticulously check every word for spelling errors, grammatical errors, always always always looking for mistakes. You're right. I'm bad at rejection. I withdraw into my cave and tell myself I'm not worth it... not worth it.. not worth it... Rocking myself to normality, knowing I'll never get there.

Now do you see how truly sick I am?

Hold my hand, dear. It's going to get dark. But I think I'll know the way. And if a stranger kisses you in the dark, kiss back. I'm here. Hold my hand. I think I know the way...

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