Three Hundred and Seventy Seven

Days like these, when I can hear the fluttering of my blood rushing through my ears, remind me that my heartache is real. So real that it’s just vying for a single knick in my skin so it can tear right through my chest and plop itself onto a highway to be crushed and ripped open by a million dirty car tires against the pavement.

So much for not wanting to hurt me.



somehow i doubt that.