When my mom tries to make sure I’m not biting my nails, she evaluates my mental health. Taking note of all the names transmitted over phone calls within the past month. Her sentences fill with just make sure’s and as long as’s. As if addiction is easier to swallow if I stopped enjoying the taste of fingers to teeth, As if gnawing away at my mistakes, hoping an even nail will even out my breath. As if my mind doesn’t re-play my anxieties in HD. As if you are ashamed of anxiety personifying the mommy daughter relationship you always prayed for.
What if Jimi Hendrix had survived?
I started this page today
I can get this thing reckoned
To everyone romanticizing suicide, fuck you
This whole time I really thought that I had forgotten what it felt like to see her that night.
Maybe you just didn't care about me and my mental state
I was never sure of what would happen in life.
Silence was my only option.
Ever since Mary Magdalene