• BLACKSERIES | no. 05 •
I AM THE WOUND

"I can’t remember how far it goes back.
Maybe as far as my first kiss — and I don’t even remember that anymore.
Can you imagine that?
Something that’s supposed to mean the beginning of everything
just… gone.

You asked why I’m sitting here?
Ha. Well, where do you want me to start?

You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said,
about patterns, and how they always start somewhere.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life:
running the same loop, but expecting a different ending.

It’s not even just about love.
It’s about how every time something good happens,
I start counting down to when it’ll fall apart.
And then when it finally does,
I act surprised...
as if I didn’t spend the whole time waiting for it.

I kept telling myself, this time will be different.
This one will fix the cracks.
But each time, the cracks got wider,
and I kept falling through them.

And you know how I mentioned that first kiss earlier?
Yeah. I wish it never happened.
It’s weird — I don’t even remember it, but I still feel it somehow.
It’s like… I think that’s when something in me twisted.
When I started mixing up love and pain,
thinking that love had to hurt to mean something.

I thought maybe I should just stop trying...
just give up,
just fuck it all.

So I did.
And I tore myself apart.
Bit by bit.
I chewed through every soft piece of me.
Cut my teeth through the tightest nerves
until there was nothing left but bones.
Looking for that holy answer —
only to find nothing was really there.

I’d been gnawing at myself this whole time.
But when there was nothing left to feed on,
it finally hit me.
It wasn’t them.
It was me.

How can I love anyone
when I don’t even know how to stop hurting myself?

And that’s when I realized...
I am the wound."

• Pencil on Paper •
• 210x277 •
• Pitt Graphite Matt •

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