#literally beggin the little writing robot in my brain to do ANYTHING today

[inkskinned]

you sometimes get called guarded, but that's not quite right, is it? the moon comes up and all you want is to show the soft parts of you, the little glen in your heart all full of pink song.

you call yourself skittish when what you mean is that there are swathes of you burned out and rotting. that what you guard so dearly is all you have left - that you fought so hard for even this small hope, of course you hold it precious. you want to be loved. you want to open up the doors and have the flowers streak in. and yet - angelic, you stand with sword on fire; a warning. snapping and clawing and biting rather than risking the worst. always tearing things apart from the inside out. always leaving first. anything, anything. you just can't risk the possibility there will be another season of hurt.

but no matter how much steel you force into your bones. inside of you there's this horrible desperate hum - please, please. please. i don't want to keep looking. just please be the one.