speed writing - written in 5 minutes.

There are no skeletons in the closet, they're all lying at the door. I am going to be the one who blows your mind, every. single. time. I can't tell a lie – i have a tell. You tell me that there are oceans, there is something sublime, there is an overwhelming wave of emotion in my chest and i can't comprehend it but i am writing it, there are no words for it: awe. Mix of terror and love. Like how laughter and crying involve the same movements, the same hunch of shoulders, gasping of air: halfway between speaking and breathing. I tell you things the only way i know how to tell them. This is about revealing, about peeling back skin, about layers. I'll show you yours if you show me mine, are you fucking kidding me.

I am writing you in 1,000 words or less, i have a knack for the uncanny, the unheimlich. This is a fucking kairotic moment, tell me if i'm doing it right, tell me if all of my life can pivot in an instant. Literature taught me that to be a hero you have to be poetic, that to be understood you need to take a fucking point of view, but that everything is ambiguous, everything is perfectly paralleled and it cuts me to the bone, cuts quick. I am taking with me every single word. Do not get me wrong. I can end you with my tongue – do you see what I did there, double meaning, ambiguity.

Sweet talking while you're the one that holds the knife, i am good at second guessing, i am good at second everything. I play second fiddle, I love to write you off. I will tell you exactly how you are, I will read you like an open fucking book. I am not going to fuck things up. When I kicked you in the face after you pulled me down the stairs, each bruise a memory, every time I thought love was a thing and it wasn't, there was only ever one before but there could be another. Press my fingertips to the bruises on my inner thighs, light yellow, a reminder, I think, it's going to fade, but not the feeling. Nothing hurts unless you make it. I promise not to make it.