danyadancer
Spikes and thorns and metal rings. That's what keeps you in. Chain-linked fences and chain-linked hearts, they'll trap you, forever and always.
Try to escape, and they'll go straight through your soul.
They say it's good luck if the little ring of copper lands heads up, not down.
Isn't that how it always is? Better luck if you're not scraping your cheeks against the pavement?
That's what they say, anyway.
We built a diagram of what was wrong and what was right. This diagram was supposed to show me, come time, the right decision.
Diagrams are always too vague. Because only my internal sense of self can tell me what to do.
Mine was wrong. Mine was so, so wrong.
I think there's a magnet in everyone's ribcage. It directs you toward other people, toward the ground, connecting to the sewer grate or toward the sky, hitting the metallic moon. Your magnet is what makes your choices- it's not in your mind. It's innate, and it's always searching, searching, searching for something more.
duck. buck. fuck.
fuck you, for breaking my heart.
fuck you, for coming back, over and over again.
fuck you, for making me fall in love with you.
duck. buck. fuck you.
Hold on there, cowboy.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this, it wasn't supposed to start like this. I wasn't supposed to feel like this.
I wish I was content with mediocrity, but I'm not, I'm not, and I'm falling and I'm failing. Always failing.
Hold on there, cowboy.
writing since 2010 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
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supposedfuckwronganywaytowardsearchingpoisonivyholdcowboyfailingduckbuckmagnetdiagramluck