dear-oceanus:

• what if i unbraided myself from your shine?
  

tell me you want to unfurl yourself from the crevices of my vertebrate, this cocoon shouldn’t crease my skin like it does.

• what if i entangled myself in the retched regret of my bruises?
  

lie me out to dry in the sun, skin tingling with electricity from jumping on the trampoline, collecting all that static and storing it up to fry your brains

• what if i shrouded myself in the applause of my net worth?
  

you’d jiggle the keys and fumble with the bonnet before popping it and rubbing grease over your hands, before the whole situation explodes and we’re back to the beginning.

— drifting away (#350)