Most people aren’t obvious.
They won’t hold protests outside your bedroom door and make your walls shake with syllables as they carnivorously chant, “WE WANT TO SEE YOU BREAK.”
They will try to pick the lock on your door, but they won’t break your windows. Cacophonies aren’t their style and their skin is too soft for shattered glass.
They won’t feel your heart with plastic hands and record what exactly makes it stop.
They won’t ask you to be their specimen, but they’ll put you in a petri disk and tell you to steadily recite a list of things you hated about yourself in high school - while adjusting the microscope.
They won’t throw gasoline on you and light a match, but they will collect the ash that falls from your cigarettes and pretend their cupped hands are urns.
They won’t lean across a table in the middle of a conversation about the rain forecast and whisper, “I CRAVE TO SEE YOU REDUCED TO BONES”, and then continue to breezily inform you about the chance of thunderstorms tomorrow morning.
Most people would rather find a loose thread.
They’ll pull at it, slightly at first, and slowly, hungrily - they’ll watch the stitches fall- they’ll watch you unravel, and they won’t skip a beat as you backtrack and backtrack and backtrack and backtrack into prisons you’ve escaped, opening scars that have healed-
But they wont watch this spectacle with glowing eyes, they won’t cry out gleefully, “I AM TERRIFIED OF YOUR WHOLENESS, I AM TERRIFIED OF YOUR SECURITY, YOU’RE NOW LOOSE THREAD JUST LIKE I AM, JUST LIKE I AM,
JUST LIKE I AM.”
Most people will be silent
and fortunately, you’ve climbed too high to hear them.
9.14.14: UNRAVEL (via octagonalpatterns)