Anxty scribbles Pt.2

I feel like I spend my time staring at a pane of glass, the troubles of my life, and the joys, reflecting back at me through a haze of glare in the confusing myriad where I'm not sure what's the real world and what's behind. One thing is clear though, you're on the other side of that glass and if i press my hands to the shape of yours I feel like I can taste the warmth of your palms beneath mine. I know that I would break that glass in a heartbeat to weave my fingers into yours but every time I try I find myself held back by bindings I cannot break. My eyes plead with yours to break through and free me but you sit there tapping at the glass with fingernails click-clicking and I realise its because you are afraid. The glass might cut you if you shatter it and you cannot bare to bleed and I hate that you hesitate and hate myself more for being OK with you spilling red so I can kiss it all better. Despite this I know that were I free I would throw myself through that barrier and shred my skin to tatters like so many razors spelling out my desperation. But instead I'll wait for you to walk past and unobstruct the view or to learn how to open the damn window and pull me through.

These little paragraphs of thought are the representation of tears I've not shed but still I have collected them in jars, bottled and stopped them so you could drink them later like ambrosia. You swallow them without even knowing how much I bled myself dry to quench your thirst because all you know is that it was for you. And in the end I lay here sucked dry of everything and you're too full to move, too content to notice that while you were filling up on delicacies I'd sliced from myself like strips of flesh, I was starving myself in the hope you would let me taste something sweet just once.

Even in the deepest pits of my despair my thoughts manage to linger on you, oh baby please don’t mistake this as you being the cause, so far from it; you’ve become the only reason I can crawl my way back out in the morning.

I would trace the constellations on your skin for all time because when I am with you that would feel as short as a single heartbeat whose dance was quickened by the heat you ignite within me. How strange it is now to notice that I must not have been really living before when I spend each hour between moments shared with you simply waiting for the next; and so much of this time is wondering if your thoughts are on me also.

Unfathomably it feels like my happiness has been stolen,

But it was never mine to claim,

How is it that I have fallen,

My control so savagely slain.

It’s you in every though I have,

For fuck sake set me free

If only for the sanity left to save,

For you’ve captured the rest of me.

I paused for a moment and i asked myself, if I stop asking for you would you start asking for me or would my lack of attention be enough to break your interest and i would once again fade into a glimmer of a memory too indistinct to recall after waking.

Why is it like this? Why do I sit here, sick as ever, trying to distract myself from everything with brutal cartoons and hard candies but all my mind does is drift to you. It’s not just the vague idea of you either, it’s your smell that I can't name but I feel it drifting through my pores, It’ the colour of your eyes that are as vast as a forest I long to explore. It’s the curls of your hair that are like the wild ocean until your hands draw the tide back from your face. It is the mountains and the valleys that your body makes up, the dips at your waist and the pockets of your collar bones. I can almost feel your lips on mine and your fingers in my hair, the warmth of your breath as it brushes my neck. I hear the words you have said to me like a record on repeat, a mantra to remind myself that this time they might be real. Mostly I listen to those words whilst my head rests on your chest, walking through that forest and I feel safe because your arms are wrapped around me and I feel like just maybe you’re as reluctant to let go.