We are only skin and bones

I+have+not+been+consistently+happy+since+October...+probably+because+Tim+Burton%27s+Corpse+Bride+was+always+on+twice+a+day.

I will never stop laughing at this picture

I have not been consistently happy since October… probably because Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride was always on twice a day.

In the night,

she tossed and turned,

but it was simply her body aching.

 

There were neither dreams nor nightmares,

just unnerving nothing

shaking her, waking her, breaking her

as she floated in and out of the darkness.

 

Sometimes,

with droopy eyelids and a tired soul,

she would catch shadows moving in and out of the corners of her vision.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore,

and she’d simply drift off once again

remembering the person that she was

as the movie played briefly in the moments before she’d fall.

 

She treated fear with irreverence,

and she simply let the feeling fly over her head

and received no warnings or signs

until the moment where it skinned her alive.

 

It felt like being poked and prodded under a glaring white light,

like being stabbed one hundred times over—

none of which were a merciful, killing blow.

 

She looked around at the skeletons;

the people she loved entangled in heaps around her feet.

And an arm grasped at her ankle,

and the contact, the connection,

made something awaken deep within her.

 

She felt her eyes turn down and her mouth morph with terror.

Her ears began to ring as the world became an afterthought

and her vision tunneled as she became glued to the scene in front of her.

She couldn’t be a part of this.

But as the muffled wailing of sirens sounded, she found herself stuck

by the shackles she had clamped on herself

which were unbreakable and stubborn

like she once had been.

 

They were coming now,

and someone latched onto her from behind,

grabbing both her shoulders to steer her away.

But she couldn’t leave,

and she commanded her knees to lock and her feet to dig in hard

as she whipped her head around to look at the ghosts.

 

Her attempts were futile,

and the two hands behind her turned into four

as she was dragged out of the room of fluorescent white.

Only now did she make a sound,

and the strangled cries that came from her were something not of herself.

And she kicked and thrashed and lunged and fell,

hoping that the weight of her sorrows would be too much for the others to carry

and that they would simply let go—give up.

Nonetheless,

she was carried out the door into the night,

and she squinted into the haze as flashing blue and red blinded her.

 

She turned her face upwards into the mist,

and glared into the darkness in hopes that she could fall upwards into it.

She tried with sheer willpower to flip the world upside down,

but everything grew colder when a blanket was draped around her shoulders.

 

The next moments happened very fast,

but her ride in a police car ended

with her in a ball

lying in bed

with tears dripping down her reddened cheeks

as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut

and felt like nothing more than bones.