I need to cry, collapse, collapse, knock myself senseless against the trunks if this forest. I'm crying, crying, drowning, frowning, sobbing, down, Collapse.
I don't want to feel you hands on me anymore. But they are, they are.
Your fingers are trailing my skin, catching the edge of my shirt, tugging, pulling, straightening my body that refuses to stand any longer.
I love your lips against mine, your fingers, your fingers in mine, my hair, crawling under the fabric of my clothes as if to attempt to unlock some forbidden door. And you're there, kissing me, kissing me senseless. Kissing me goodbye, kissing me as if yo make it a more jagged wound than it already is.
You whisper but I don't listen. And I regret it. I regret it as your soft hands leave mine, trace my lips once, not twice then vanish.
You vanish and I now know, even more than before, that I'm a fool. I'm your fool, your jester, your flower that pushed to hard and tried to blossom before its season.
I only tried to become a broken blossom for you and failed in the end, for the gardener can tell when the seeds are bad. These seeds are bad and the garden of this body and mind are now rotting.
I'm now falling apart.
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