there is a poetry in the risk of bending reality to fit your overall mood; there is a reckless rhyme to the fact that you do not and shall not gift a second thought to your own abandon.
there is a certain meter, specific rules, and you feel no other desire toward them except a craving to break every single one.
longing sickens you, because there is nothing – nothing – you would rather do than break free
from yourself.
your tongue aches to twist words into braided structure / your head pounds with the puzzle of peaceful chaos / your heart beats exponentially faster because you are alive but removed from yourself
sails are necessary to a ship; this is widely-known fact. reckless apathy is your sail, so that when the time comes, there will be no mourning. there will be no weakness in sensitivity, because apathetic calm is optimal, is it not?
release yourself. remove yourself. wreck yourself.
these steps have never tempted you more than here.and.now.
it is only the affirmation that others think about you, sometimes, that pulls you back. the alleged care is too much to process, but maybe you let yourself think in your rare weak moments that someone you care about, reciprocates.
so you attempt to forget. you suppress and repress until you can remember things, but nothing you used to consider inconsequential.
you quickly realize that forgetting the details was the worst choice for you, in this cursed state. in forgetting them, you sever any remainder of any anchor you’ve ever known–
because what is your anchor, if not them?
in forgetting them, you’ve freed yourself
in freedom, you’ve lost yourself
(who knew that anchors were the most important component to a ship?)
this side of the story 