scribbled

I've read each word. Blades. you don't cut me hard enough so sometimes i do it to myself out of desperation. It's a measurement of how much you give me as much as it's a measurement of how much i can take, but the latter I suppose is left to my own devices. Yes, the need to suffer, but suffer for something, not wallow in a cave I can't float ever to the top of. It should be for something, and the other parts of body release and return don't work, it's a finely set wirework of suffering in the service of your need.

I'm in a fog, still. The register has overwhelmed me and consumed my focus. Why am i in such a state? Need is clawing away, and it's never enough, I'm never low enough, down enough, suffering enough. This last thing, though, has pushed me far. My fear is that I'll break.

I'm terrified of doing this without you there. I started to say to hold my hand, but I have no need for you to hold my hand, but to obliterate me. Annhilate. Abandon and destroy. And then to have you choose to bring me back, never at your side, but at your feet under your boot.