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[elphyon]

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Sometimes my thoughts turn inward like hands outstretched in the dark. They scope the surroundings inch by inch. Tentatively at first, then more daringly, and then, finally, a frantic and desperate clawing for a way out. Everywhere they touch are cracks and faultlines. Cracks and faultlines, holding their permanence the way ink clings to broken skin. These bloody hand-thoughts are what keep me awake throughout the night. I can’t stop thinking about how broken I am and even though I’ve given up on fixing myself through words I still trace the fractures with a cartographer’s obsession. I wish I could see myself through someone else’s eyes, just once; escape this basilisk’s gaze I cast upon myself. I wish I could love myself. A fretful, hungry thing.

[jennymeehan]

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Sometimes my thoughts turn inward like hands outstretched in the dark.


I like this a lot, I do, very much. But the first line gave me a problem, because of the thoughts turning inward like hands outstretched...

The idea of outstretched hands seemed to go against the feeling I felt which was more that hands would be coming at me somehow...

[Sana]

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I like what you did here, it just flows...the words...sentences..etc. It has a bit of surreal touch to it but still remains sane.