wrecked

he thought i had more to say, something to confess. his probing looks were 8 years too late. perhaps if he had asked me then, i’d have had more to reveal. now, all i have are memories that resurface when the hormones in me decide to play games with my feelings, rendering them vulnerable to the assault of forgotten ghosts.

low moods, altered sleep, damned hormones that protect my bones but wreck my soul.

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