he used to wear bright colours of thread around his wrists. a few old, faded ones- others new. weren’t meant to be an accessory. hiding behind silly narratives. hiding what he didn’t want eyes to see.
scars. a few old, faded ones- others new.
lines that his lover would trace. macabre marks he carved close together. the pills battled the demons. you never would’ve thought.
i wasn’t any different. eyes would always meet. didn’t need words to understand. you’d ask and i didn’t know how to lie. you already knew.