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isn’t it funny how I frantically tried everything, stubbornly believing there was a solution to this? I did it all; getting under others, drinking, partying, drugs, crying, painting, questioning, praying, oh so much praying. nothing worked. I continued to float through my own life, walking dead. ironic, because I hate that fucking show. I wonder how I did it, how I lived through the many  breakdowns. crying mid-sentence in public places. not answering phone calls because there was a perpetual lump of pain stuck in my throat and it hurt. everything hurt.

it hit me eventually, the epiphany. I cannot run away from myself. I cannot exit my own skin and wander the streets raw, exposed, yet hoping for a better life. I cannot be absent from my own life in hopes of somehow escaping you… you were carved onto my beating heart the very first time I heard your voice. the painfully sweet ink of irrepressible need traced zodiac signs that I did not understand or interpret. signs that shone through my iridescent skin like a tattoo that cannot be removed because to attempt such a thing will be the death of me.
there is no escaping you.


P. S.
Why do you keep checking this blog? You stress my conscience and force me to post new stuff đŸ˜­

2 thoughts on “tattoo

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Spill the tea, sis.

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