Holding onto memories of those terrible nights within your grasp is beginning engrave words in your skin and in your thoughts. You can let it all follow around you in the clouds you inhale and the stomach acid you release after those long secluded nights because after all everything is a memory someday.
Holding onto your deteriorating past denies it the chance to decay and bloom from the remnants that are leftover.
Your hands don't seem quite so soft and your fears not so subtle. They're rising to the surface along with all the other baggage you deny holding because you're terrified to let it out. Its scratching at your skin from the insid