nine.
rocking back and forth, curled into a tiny version of me, the bathroom floor is cool and calm, and the tears stop burning trails down my face for small periods of time. but it's four in the morning now, and getting up isn't too far away. and i turn on the faucet to cover the annoying, noisy heaves of my sobs. and i hit my head harder and harder against the wall. and my nails dig a satisfying deep into my arms. because i don't say your name to get your attention. i only use it in stories. because i'll crawl back into my creaking bed and hug the edge of my comforter as i try to breathe. because the shadows bend and twist, clawing at each other jealously, and give little rest to light in between.
but your name, it's falling down my throat and drowning until it's finding small relief in lurching forward to clap against my clenched teeth again.
