Laura, please speak to me, when I cut myself open I bleed words… all kinds of terrible words, words about the pain and anguish I feel, or may have felt in the past, only ever nice words as soon as I don’t cut myself open, get to let myself watch the chance of goodness swim about haphazardly inside, beneath what can only be, truth told, an arm awash with a coursing tide of doubt
One that I know I cannot afford to let out, not right now