There's a voice in my head on repeat.
Cold and insistent, promising. It fades in and out like background music that doesn't quite stop.
And so I swing-
Dangerously, painfully, destructively back and forth between whisperings that creep up my spine in such tragically, suffocatingly comforting ways and moments that I feel like I actually have you. All of you.
"We're okay," you say, forehead to mine, nose to nose.
I don't know where I am, sometimes. And I want so much to believe you but there are moments I catch myself standing in the middle of the room and feeling like I'm fading. It's like I'm bleeding out at the edges and fuzzing out into the space around me.
I want so much to believe you.
For my skin to be quiet and not wish for you. To not think up reasons in my head that couldn't be accurate.
It's not like that with us; we're not made up of games and pretty words.
So tell me how I can stop being all wrong?