dear kale,
it's fucking embarrassing to write to you. i'm never going to send these. i know it. but it makes me feel like i said these words and wasn't such a fucking coward around you. i hate you, you know? i fucking despise you and your curly hair and i wish i actually meant it when i said the quiet i love you's when your hands are entwined with mine when we're in public and "you don't want me getting lost again." i'm glad you couldn't hear me.
your hickies remind me of mosquito bites. the annoying redness, followed by a purple hours later. the way i scratch at it to see if it'll magically come off if i scrub. the way my blood boils everytime i remember the encounter. they remind me of something i despise and loathe and i fucking hate you. you make me itch. i want to disintegrate every single one of your perfectly arranged atoms.
great, now i'm lying to my journal, too.
bye.
-rie.
YOU ARE READING
ring pops and cigs
Teen Fictionthe cigarettes won't save me now. yet, the lungkiller sits mercifully between my teeth to grant me a temporary bliss in exchange for my health. it's not like i'm going to live forever. OR i've glitterglued my bones together and taped my eyes open;...
