To: B.A.K.

Please take care of me.

You know I won’t. Or maybe you don’t, but I’ll tell you.

There’s no reason to ever leave a cocoon of empty sheets in the morning, not even to watch the sun rise in lilac and gold. When light filters in through the windows, I can only breathe an empty sigh and close my eyes again. To sleep is to draw the shades and let brain become as dark as the abyss that calls from the waterfall of dreams.

There’s no reason to ever eat a square meal, nevermind three times a day. At most, there is time for a piece of gum or a cup of coffee. I don’t like this body anyways, so who am I to take care of it? I have not been this body since the winter of icy manipulation, the winter that stole the breath right out of my lungs and tore open the fabric of time to the black hole.

There’s no reason to spend any time on the appearance, no reason to spend any time standing under hot water. It’s not going to wash away anything that has happened, nothing that I want to get rid of.

There’s no reason, love. No reason to keep myself together when I’m already ripping at the seams of scar tissue I created.

I created this.

You don’t have to love this.

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