Raz
Bluelighter
Summer heat drowns my skin in its own excretions, and I feel like I'm trapped in here.
I pull down the sleeve of my windcheater, and I can see underneath the hint of scarring, red and vibrant. It's smaller than I remember it though, and I wonder if that's true of all my scars. I wonder if the pain blossoms inside me moreso than it deserves to because some nasty little part of my brain wants their pity.
Some nasty little part of my brain wants to be the hurt one.
I'm waiting for them to notice, I'm waiting for them to ask why I'm sweating. Waiting for them to tell me to bare my arms to the sun. I want them to see what they've forced, and I want them to know what it's cost me. I want it to cost them.
But in reality the cost for them is negligible. All of my screaming inside and outside and they're so busy projecting their smallness on all around them that they never hear any of it.
The pit yawns open, but I'm not sure who for.
And I'm no longer sure it's so deep.
Cut.
I pull down the sleeve of my windcheater, and I can see underneath the hint of scarring, red and vibrant. It's smaller than I remember it though, and I wonder if that's true of all my scars. I wonder if the pain blossoms inside me moreso than it deserves to because some nasty little part of my brain wants their pity.
Some nasty little part of my brain wants to be the hurt one.
I'm waiting for them to notice, I'm waiting for them to ask why I'm sweating. Waiting for them to tell me to bare my arms to the sun. I want them to see what they've forced, and I want them to know what it's cost me. I want it to cost them.
But in reality the cost for them is negligible. All of my screaming inside and outside and they're so busy projecting their smallness on all around them that they never hear any of it.
The pit yawns open, but I'm not sure who for.
And I'm no longer sure it's so deep.
Cut.
