my bones fuckin hurt

why am i constantly in pain somewhere

july 18 2026

“i love you,” they spell out,

“we still love you.”

“can you love me like that?”

which is why it takes no more than a day for me to cry at the machines beeping, startled but familiar — “alright, alright, i’ll straighten my arm, i’m sorry-“ press two buttons, and its wails quiet.

like it wants to be helpful, in its nature and design to help me, and it cries when it cannot. sweet, to think an iv wants to help me.

(they say when you stare into something’s eyes,

you’re just seeing yourself reflected back.)

we’re on the seventh floor— it’s a nice view. home, a little upwards, past the strip malls and water towers, pale oranges fading to paler blues in morning light. and it still hurts — that skyward longing.

a bird skating on fresh air by it’s curved wings, wind bolstering its flight — and i want. want what? wellness, maybe, freedom. to skate along those skies myself and fly, to taste air and have it not hurt. oh, how do i long-

bird on the horizon, do you dream of cotton nests and concrete cliffsides? of easy food, of bustling motors, of understanding of the things people do? or do you long just the same?

are we both just left wanting, little bird?

(you’re not even that small. just so, so far away.)

ill be the person you want me to be another day. cant right now. call back later.

with love,

i just wanna go somewhere where it doesn’t hurt anymore

> it doesn’t.

> it doesn’t.

> it doesn’t.

> it doesn’t.

> it doesn’t.

> it doesn’t.

“i hate myself. most of the time i see myself in the corner of my vision, feet swaying from the ceiling fan. it’d never work and i’d never do it, and you don’t have to worry, but-“

but nothing. nothing to say, nothing to see at all.

instability. suicidality.

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow-

and maybe one day, you’ll just float off and disappear. fade into the background without anyone noticing. that or hold it together, do it right- but we all know you’re not capable of even that, are you?

clumsy, clumsy, clumsy.

i wanna do something crazy. wanna hold your hand, want to jump and feel the wind in my hair, the arc of the sky, the cry of cicadas; final chorus, curtain call. it would be so easy, so beautiful, the ending of a film with the credits rolling in white serif font -

i want to die with laughter, bright, beautiful, final. see the reflection of fireworks in your eyes, searing bright to pattern the insides of your eyelids.

look, see? isn’t this where i belong? what i long to do?

isn’t it freeing?