frigid

ice cold blood sending daggers down my arm into my fingertips, throbbing down into my chest and back again as i realize how FOOOOOLISH i've been, ouch i still feel it.  a deep sense of humiliation and maybe sadness physically attacking my chest.  i knew i should've relaxed, i knew it, i know i have to calm down so why am i being so stupidly open and obvious about my feelings

oh god my fingers are so cold

i want to close myself off from the world i don't wanna tell anybody anything, this knot in my throat, can it just close up entirely and stop me from ever speaking words again

i wish


--
you didn't want to end the conversation there so i'm sorry. i asked you to give me tonight though. i'm being entirely too sensitive.  see?  i told you that i was the one far more into this than you, why do you even attempt to deny these things

it is the truth, i can see it, i can feel it, it is the ice cubes stretching out the thin tubing of my veins that i feel so slowly in my arms. truth melting and mixing with all the warmth and milk and honey you've been feeding me these past few months

but it's good, i need these dosages of reality right?  these cold buckets of water, i need them. 

i will change, i will hold back.  even if you don't want me to.