A Car That Sped

Razorblade racing stripes on the wrist.

Cigarette burn traffic lights on the arm.

Trying to let go.

Trying to stop your memory from racing away from me.

So I leave traces.

Tracks to remind me how to get back to you.

I can slash and burn and you will never know.

Traces.

Scars.

Scars to take me home.

Take me to where you may be.


-from the desk of S.C. Browne

I'm trying not to move... it's just your ghost passing through.

I pull my own hair... I touch my face.  I tug at my ears.  Proof that I am still here. Proof that I exist. 

Proof that I still feel.  Anything. 

  You're touch has become imaginary.  Ghostly in the way that I remember it. A touch that gives me goosebumps and reminds me that I have been touched but I don't know from who anymore.  -from the desk of S.C. Browne 

Sundazed to the Core pt 2

I wanted to cut.

I wanted to bloodlet.

The fire is strong inside me.
I don't know how to put it out.

I don't know how to truly let go.

I poured hydrogen peroxide on my 3 matching burns and put neosporin on it.

I am not a teenage girl.

I am an idiot heart.

-from the desk of S.C. Browne