★marlow

"out of the woodwork and in on the breeze, grow up to look just like you."

you can feel your blood moving. the moths crawling in your lungs. the skin stretched across your bones. something heavy sits on your shoulders, in your gut, dark and cloudy. like vines climbing up your throat. like fog filling your brain.

the thoughts in your head are quiet, and they do not belong to you. your hands do not belong to you. who are you? what are you? you do not know, but you know that something is wrong. smoke pours from your mouth and leaves curl around your fingertips. your veins burn like they hate you.

your journals are written in a handwriting you don't recognize. the books on your shelves strange and unfamiliar. you should know this. they're yours, after all. these hands are yours. the face in the mirror is... yours.

you resist the urge to shatter the glass.