A COMMUNAL EXPERIMENT IN SELF CURATION

a Soul Project

archival : fuck fuck fuck fuck :

Nothing sounds like I want it to sound.
This is the feeling that reminds me
I'd rather be alone than feel this adrenaline in my chest.
Fucking melodrama.
Fucking insubordinate body.

Dylan, I've freaked you out.
It tears at me, and I don't know why except that I fucking care about you.
I'm swearing way too much, I know.

I'm scared of you being scared, of me. Of "us," or what could be. Of yourself.
I'm scared of being disappointed, of being alone again, even while I give myself up to you.

And back to the panic,
I don't know what I did. I don't know what I did!

I have no good words.
I have nothing worthwhile to say, just expletives and frightened, empty phrases.
They scream through my brain, wishing to be voiced.

Don't you realize I'm in love with you!? Of course not.
DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS FOR ME?
HOW TERRIFYING THAT IS EVERY TIME?

And I just peed on a stick, to be blunt. And now I wait.
Aaaand, negative. Wheww.