I was some of those words smashed into that dusty dictionary that I never use. Hundreds of words spinning around me in nonsensical clouds, contradicting and juxtaposing.
I used to be an archive of everything, a little of this and that. Something different to everybody but nothing to myself.
So I dreamed it all away.
Drowned in music, ran with the blurred scenery flitting past windows of moving cars.
Lost everything, shattered the image, found broken bits of it lurking in between spaces.
Tossed them away, smeared them on paper, pressed them into journals and cut myself on them in the process then bled and bled.
Folded them up small, hide pieces of me in abandoned buildings and under worn rugs, wedged in loose floorboards in places I'll forget.
And burned the rest.
Until nothing was left.
I used to be that girl. Now I'm just some girl, trying to make sense of it all.