They all want to be the center of attention, even for a single moment.
But more than anything you wish that you could just fade into the carpet.
Become a puddle.
Don’t stand out or expose the things writing beneath the surface of your skin.
Never let anyone venture in too deep.
Internalize the fear.
Avoid their pity.
Never really expel your demons.
None of this is meant to be shared.
If you pretend that it didn’t happen for the next ten years, will it just cease to have ever existed?
Just close your eyes a shove your thumbs in your ears like some kind of tantrum.
Because you are a child, such a young and irrational child; but no one should carry around so much guilt at fifteen.
You’ve developed a premature curve in your spine.
A nagging ache, like a slowly rotting tooth that you sometimes poke at to just feel anything.
But it’s too late for that, because like your mother always warned, you can’t go back to holding hands-
No matter how much you willed this to be true.
So you clasp the bottle in your sweaty palm, and drink in deeply.
A few sips away from momentary amnesia;
Relief in beriefly becoming nothing.