Sweater Policy
Sweater Policy ariel stories
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carolineprancke
carolineprancke let's try being reborn again
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago

My sweater policy?
leave it all at the door.

Sweater Policy

He wore a sweater vest. My hands shook, when I pulled it over his head,

the creases on his hands left indents on my arms that bled.

he whispered over dying breaths,

“it's normal.”

“You're so pretty.”

his mouth leaked the words like oils slipping and staining his teeth black so you never see his smile in the dark.

“Can't I touch you?”

Haven't you already dragged your fingertips over enough of my personality? Filled in the gaps of my person with your word.

Why do you need my mouth too?

God, where is my voice when the sun goes down?

You keep guiding me, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to lay under the hands of fate.

The twisting strands reflecting life, I wonder what would be left of me if I prayed?

I want you to crumble under me, watch your skin fracture in all the spots that make contact.

To wake up in a bed of your ash and find morning again,

yet it never dawns on me.

Your sweater vest lays on my bed, after it all.

And in my heart, I wonder how fabric burns.

I place it in a washing machine, dryer, fold it gently like an art form.

Could I will these threads to undo and suffocate me like you had?

“You take me so well, my little Ariel.”

I didn't take. You gave it all unto me.

You pushed it all in, and for once, I would've rather you'd been selfish again. The one time it mattered.

But fuck, he said I was pretty, and his lips glittered with “lovely” and “new”

and there were moments when he'd rub my hand, or pet my head where it kept hitting the board.

and I kept coming back to that.

But that fucking sweater vest. You took everything with it when you went home without it.

For days, my hands felt the scratch of the fabric, the pull of my sheets, the will to be free of it.

I am filled with a need, that you could never understand.

You wore it once, and I felt my throat close up like you were there all over again,

“you're too old to be so shy.”

I'm just a kid still, please stop adding candles to my cake and calling it “growing up” when they burn me like you had.

and while I've convinced myself you're behind me, there's still your shadow to live with.

I haven't even seen you in months, why are you still here then?

Can't you take your hands, your words, your touch, your fucking sweater vest and find home somewhere else.

My sweater policy?

leave it all at the door.

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