your name is kira taylor

and you are just a string of inhales and exhales while you're waiting for your life to start (or end, depending on how you look at it)

you still don't remember what day it is. monday, probably. at times that calendar next to your bed seems like the only reason you seem on track, and other times you're crossing off weeks at a time because you couldn't be bothered to, each of those lost days. the character-death-chart you have written on your mirror is more frequently updated. that sure says something about you, doesn't it.

 

it's 5:10 AM. you've been reading fanfiction all night, seized by the strange urge to cry at least once an hour, and the sky outside is the strangest shade of grayish-blue. all these days you've stayed up and you've never wanted to watch the sun rise, always going back to sleep with covers over your head and fan whirling sluggishly overhead. you recall when you were younger you used to like sunrises, at least you think so, but those times weren't muted gray to you and they hurt your eyes so you block out those thoughts.

 

you whisper, your voice not going above a sigh, and you shed your skin in chipped-white layers, scratching at yourself with your nails and your teeth, chewing and swallowing and wishing drawing your own blood didn't hurt so much. you bite your lip instead, and that's okay for 5:14 AM.

 

you feel tired but restless. you have nothing to do but don't want to sleep, but want to sleep because what is waking life anymore, just grayscale hours in between dreams? you can dream of people (certain people that won't go, but your dreamself never minds) and places and things you're too lazy and stupid to get in real life. you can still tell the difference between life and dreams, but only because one of them is interesting and the other is not.

 

when you hear songs, you reevaluate them based on people that don't exist and think about them as you sing, in the lowest octave you can muster because it is still 5:18 AM and you are still 15 and if your mom caught you doing your nocturnal thing she would be mad and snap your lifeline (your internet access stupid piece of s**t), and then you could only sleep and count your breaths, because that's all you want or need or can stomach right now. you'd overdose on dreams--what is real life compared to it, anyway.

 

you marvel at how red your blood is. you don't know why.

Reviews

[QC]

Oh my god. This is just... haunting and beautiful and tantalizing and the way you describe things spoke to me in a way i don't even really understand. can you love a person bases solely on their writing? because i think i just fell in love (:

[Lyzzy Redd]

This is so raw and emotional. Wow. I don't know what else to say because it's really beautiful in a haunting way.