the bones in my hands explode through my skin

i have a bad habit of looking at old messages i've sent.

looking back at the past usually only yields one of two things. hating yourself, and feeling sick.

the specific kind of sick that's flavored home. homesick. lovesick. either of the two.

it happens mainly with the ones i love the most. i look back at old messages because there's some funny moments i remember, or i'm looking for an old reaction image that i know i sent once but got rid of it or just can't find in my gallery.

getting lost in the jungle of thoughts long past ends up taking hours of my day.

tearing flesh, blood pouring, i scream in pleasure

you can't ever go back.

as much as you want to and your throat feels like it's imploding the farther you go, you will never ever be able to return to what has passed.

and that's okay.