not a fairytale

the windows are dirty. the windows are dirty
and this is not a fairytale because
i'm not happy
i'm not a good person
i'm not okay with myself.

not really.


i don't want you to break this
i don't want you to break -
i don't want you

but i do.

the skeletons that were in my closet have come out,
they're dancing on my bed, they're dancing on my grave
they're dancing.

my teeth hurt when their bones shake and they rattle like
the phone in my hands -
it's ringing and ringing and ringing but it's not between my fingers
it's in my stomach and i can't pull it out and
there's screaming.

someone has fallen off the steps into darkness, underground,
inside me is darkness.

my intestines will never see the light until i've died and
is that where you are calling for me
are you leaving your hand prints in the dust on my windowpanes
are you calling for me

because i don't want to be rescued.