173 flutter

sometimes my words are featherlight and they come like breath and fog up the mirror so i can draw lines through the ghosts and turn any face into a smile. other times i'm doing anything i can to cough up the words but they're stuck somewhere way too deep just waiting for the right time to come out. lately i think i've been doing a lot of that and i'm starting to doubt my way with words.

hmm i messed up again today and every time i swallow i'm reminded of the shame and the disgust and the regret. you'd think something with such awful consequences would be easy to stop, but this is just an addiction. no matter how much the heroin addict with their bruised arms and charcoal eyes and sharp bones hates what they're doing to themselves, they feel so overwhelmingly, numbingly powerless.

i'm not going to be powerless anymore, though. tomorrow is a new day and i intend to treat it as such