tell me it will get better even though we both know it won'tMature

am i the only one i know
waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i'm alone.
i've got a migraine and my pain will range from up, down, and sideways,
thank God it's Friday 'cause Fridays will always
be better than Sundays 'cause Sundays are my suicide days
- Migraine, twenty one pilots

and in the late night, 
when i think she probably regrets it, 
my mother sends me one text glowing gray in the dark: 

i just want you to be happy. 

mom, i'm sorry. 
i'm sorry you got saddled with a kid turning their hips into warfields each day 
who blames themself for everything and has a fucked-up/non-existent gender
and doesn't understand how to be anything but constantly and overwhelmingly sad 

i wish you didn't but you did
and it's too late now

i say this because of the blood soaking heavy into my shirt, 
thinner than i remember, 
a gruesome red dulled by the fabric 

it's sticking to my hip, 
glued by crimson, 
and i peel it away with a wince

i will not bandage this

i will lie to cc and tell her i did 

but i will not 

i'll just hope it stops bleeding 
because i know my limits and while this is pressing them 
it will not be anything but "handled" 

i can't tell if the whooshing in my ears
is just in my head or if it's coming through the headphones i forgot i had on

and i know, i know, 
i'm afraid of being my sister 

even though there are probably worse things to fear 
like the way my sister spits the pronouns "they" with disgust 
and i cringe away, scared, 

scared of her and myself and the things i tell myself at night 
and the things i don't let myself think anymore

like what if i told them all 

but i won't

broken record on repeat 
hope i don't go insane tonight 
like every night 

a blank plea 
for what's left to remain. 

The End

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