earthbound ✓

august



✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"someday, i'll die. someday, i'll forget how to wake up"

i died a few septembers ago, but no one noticed because the blood wasn't mine

it wasn't mine.

now it's august and instead of sipping away like a bottle of wine- it claws at the insides of my windpipe and rattles my bones.

august is cruel. august is violent. august is farmed poison on my ribs. august is white noise in my left ear, twenty-two minutes into chemistry class, and-

august is mine.

what a fool.

what an absolutely pretty-looking fool.

august likes to weave my existence in threads and place them in my eye sockets. but august would dust gun residue from my lips and paint me in velveteen in a heartbeat.

on sunday mornings, i wear pantyhose and crush oxytocin on my thighs, but i'm not a sinner.

august would recite monologues about how i'm sour gummies in aching bellies and romanticized absence in grey undertones and to me- to me, that is fucking beautiful.

who gives a shit about silver coins in water fountains if all july does is melt them into your limbs and anchor your rings into the crevices of your grey bones?

sometimes i use paper tissue to wipe away the decay on my wisdom tooth. i randomly get spasms on my right hand and sometimes, i steal butter knives from restaurants.

i know every word to ultraviolence and i snore when i'm awake. i don't give a shit about pollution most of the time and pretty girls smell like suffocation.

monday through friday, i'm comedic relief to the majority of my classroom and i gravitate toward dirt rather than water.

i'm frantic during prayers.

and despite all of that, is it not beautiful that august thinks i'm guttural consonants on it's tongue? that if i were a flower, i'd probably fall on my face than bloom and fall in petals all pretty and pink?

sometimes august asks me to kneel. august says 'pretty please' and so... i do.

i'll sink my entire existence into the grounds of this earth until the swelling makes ferns grow on the insides of my thighs, i'll draw butterflies on the corners of my english homework so august wouldn't have to read stupid romantic novels to figure out what to stitch into my gut.

august would scourge time and space, august would make bystanders into casualties, and august would put the fall into comatose for me.

i don't think you understand the severity.

august barely survives through fall, august crumbles in my conscience. august would bleed for me.

august bled for me... a few septembers ago.

and i died.

but no one noticed because the blood wasn't mine.