Oh god,

It's coming back.

The same sentence I have never actually been able to say, it's playing in my head, over and over like a broken record, syllable demons grasping and clawing their way out of my mouth.

I want these things off of my flesh.

I wish I could stop touching my back to this chair.

To this shirt.

This bra, this skin, this FLESH.

But I will push it down, because I still can't say the sentence that would make you understand.


I... ...

I... can't.


  • Luna Kay
  • Wocket

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