was rummaging through the mountain of paper strewn everywhere and i found one of my old notebooks – no idea why i turned to the last page
but i found this and i think i must have been a very morbid person 3 years ago
distinctively remember scrawling this on the back of a notebook during amath lesson
— i was 15 then
feel like a wind-up doll.
fingerprints have marred my once porcelain-esque face; evidence that i was once of some use to somebody
i lay sprawled out on the parquet flooring, it is cold. uncomfortable.
my heart is a crudely carved out hole, absent-mindedly painted pink
the wind-up motor on my back is rusty now
if someone were to insert the silver key into my back,
i don’t know if you would still be able to see me dance and sing songs about love,
singing ‘i love you! you’re my bestest friend!’
perhaps now it would be a ‘where did you go’
they think that just because i always have a smile on the canvas of my face means that i am incapable of other emotions.
it does not work that way
they. you. walk away and leave me behind; no struggle ensues but it does not mean i am fine.
my eyes are glazed, wide open.
it has been a month and a day,
you did not look back
not even once to hear me scream (maybe more of a plea)
wishing you could see my eyes trying to convey to you my innermost thoughts
i am screaming
don’t go, don’t go, don’t go
but you left, anyway
i remember now