Chances.

I just wanna sink my teeth into something as a reminder to live. This numbing life is only practical through the window. But then you open the door and remember how fucked you are. How fucked you feel. The glass is broken and your skin is burnt. Ya know...skin is just skin-but it's a lie that words are only words-because words make up everything, sweetheart. My god, they fill these pages, and they're all over billboards, arms, and broken windows. Waves of silence are filled with them. You think I'm kidding? Well there's no shame in proving you wrong.

I blink my eyes at the thought of silence. Is my God hiding in it? Is He sinking His own teeth into my pain? Is He feeling what I'm feeling? It's overwhelming. I once saw a play that moved me. I bit my lip instead of crying. I went home that night and demolished that script. I wrote down everything meaningful and put it all over my walls to re-evaluate my life.

I'm lonely tonight. Solitude makes sanity, but empty solitude is just painful. Excruciating. I'm staring at my fingertips wondering what I've touched. Who I've touched. Have I stopped anyone in their tracks, because I can't tell you how many times I've tripped at the thought of you...stopped at the sight of you. Of you all. And that's what makes this so hard.