clairebearr
kickbox
heyyy, so i wrote this recently...but i'm not sure about it. let me know if you like it, if you don't.
what you like about it...
what you hate about it...
(p.s, the beginning's just a quote...)
At your funeral I was so upset
So upset, so upset
In your life you were larger than this
Statue-statuesque
I see signs now all the time
That you’re not dead
You’re sleeping
I believe in anything
That brings you home
To me.
-Signs
Prologue:
You sit in front of me, with your skinny legs crossed, bobbing your foot to an unknown beat. Knowing I’m not paying attention, you sigh and drum your fingers on the clipboard in your lap. I know for a fact you’re staring at me with that look on your face. I know that your black cat-eye glasses are perched on the tip of your nose as you stare down at me, expecting me to talk.
At this moment, you clasp your hands tightly in your lap and sigh, looking around the room you know too well. Your eyes rest upon a box of tissues. How many of your patients have cried in this room when they spilled their souls to you? Why do you do what you do?
Occasionally, you scratch your shoulder or reach up to smooth your hair, even though it’s already flat. It looks nice today, pulled into a bun. I know you want me to talk. But I won’t. That, you also know. I don’t even want to be here. I’m not supposed to be here. It’s all the school’s fault.
I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my school thinking I was a threat to myself after his death.
I’m not looking at you. I don’t want to. Not when you have that look on your face. I want to wipe that look off, make it as though it didn’t exist. I haven’t looked at you the entire time I’ve been in here. You’ve only said one thing to me.
“Well?”
I shrugged at you when you asked me. I wasn’t going to answer anytime soon. What was I supposed to say? I lost the world that night. My heart was ripped in half and there’s no surgery, doctor or pill that can save me. But I swear, I didn’t do anything but love him.
I didn’t.
Honest.
what you like about it...
what you hate about it...
(p.s, the beginning's just a quote...)
At your funeral I was so upset
So upset, so upset
In your life you were larger than this
Statue-statuesque
I see signs now all the time
That you’re not dead
You’re sleeping
I believe in anything
That brings you home
To me.
-Signs
Prologue:
You sit in front of me, with your skinny legs crossed, bobbing your foot to an unknown beat. Knowing I’m not paying attention, you sigh and drum your fingers on the clipboard in your lap. I know for a fact you’re staring at me with that look on your face. I know that your black cat-eye glasses are perched on the tip of your nose as you stare down at me, expecting me to talk.
At this moment, you clasp your hands tightly in your lap and sigh, looking around the room you know too well. Your eyes rest upon a box of tissues. How many of your patients have cried in this room when they spilled their souls to you? Why do you do what you do?
Occasionally, you scratch your shoulder or reach up to smooth your hair, even though it’s already flat. It looks nice today, pulled into a bun. I know you want me to talk. But I won’t. That, you also know. I don’t even want to be here. I’m not supposed to be here. It’s all the school’s fault.
I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my school thinking I was a threat to myself after his death.
I’m not looking at you. I don’t want to. Not when you have that look on your face. I want to wipe that look off, make it as though it didn’t exist. I haven’t looked at you the entire time I’ve been in here. You’ve only said one thing to me.
“Well?”
I shrugged at you when you asked me. I wasn’t going to answer anytime soon. What was I supposed to say? I lost the world that night. My heart was ripped in half and there’s no surgery, doctor or pill that can save me. But I swear, I didn’t do anything but love him.
I didn’t.
Honest.