two different things entirely.
01.12.07
the irony of it, is how i simply cannot think of the irony of it.
for days i hide behind closed doors surrounded by soft blankets & even softer tears.
i wake up & i run.
i push my body until it hurts.
& i don't stop until it does.
i rely on herbal tea to fill my stomach & for sweatshirts to make me feel safe.
i can't find that comfort anywhere else.
the only thing i'm aware of is just how fake everyone really is. how hard it is to dodge words that have been twisted around. & how lost i have become in my own head & household.
maybe that's the irony.
the place i feel least at home is where it's supposed to be.
or that the place i should want to be most.
is the place i'm most unwanted.
rewind | fast-foward
