who wants to take turns punching me in the face

You told me you liked it when I cried, because the tears of an angel are sweeter than the sulfur that’s stuck in the back of your throat.
We accept the love we think we deserve. We can’t change those who don’t want to be changed. But I wanted to be his saving grace. I wanted to replace the cocaine and be the new reason his heart started to race. I wanted him to punch me in the face with a fist full of love. I wanted to watch the bruises turn into flowers across my brown skin.
Now I sit and count how many days I can go without speaking to him again.
iv .
1, 2, 3, 4…dammit.
Is this the life of an addict?
I’m so afraid of ruining my art that I never take the chance to do something with my art. I’m so afraid of losing that I’d rather never feel the glory of winning. But if I never succeed, was I ever good enough to begin with?
The entries are never as long anymore. I wonder if it’s because I’m busy or because I’ve finally gotten over the ache in my chest. My mind feels foreign to me now that it’s no longer ruled by thoughts of you. It’s like my consciousness doesn’t even feel real anymore. It’s like I’m floating.
My screen lit up.
You called.
I put my head out the window of my friend’s car.
I screamed until my throat ached.
I screamed until my heart burst.
I screamed until I felt release.
My screen went black.
Wow, what a miracle.
Look, the sad girl learned how to smile.
—  SUBURBAN DIARY PT. 4 // k.m.