tw's:

there is supposed to be something about threes. you have only ever caught glimpses of the outside amid scribbled notes, sterile rooms, camera flashes.

but there is supposed to be something about threes. you know this.

“third time’s the charm.”

you think, by now, that there have been far more than three.

but what do you know, anyway?

( very little. )

perhaps you would, had things been different.

those blood-red lines have traced their way over your skin yet again, and perhaps they’d have hurt just as much had they been wounds.

( how many times have you been through this? does it matter anymore? )

the blue liquid pooling in the back of your throat is far too sweet, this you know — the kind of sweetness meant to cover up the putridly bitter taste beneath — and so you spend far too long avoiding the moment when you have to swallow it down.

it burns, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from draining the plastic cup until tears sting the corners of your vision.

you’ve been told before, talked down to like a child, that there will be a change, a metamorphosis, but still a new beginning. there is everything to be afraid of, and you know that they do not mean it when they say that you’re brave.

when you first came here, they would make you draw cards. it quickly became a pointless endeavor when every spread had the same result, even as they tried to console you with the notion that death is not an inherently ‘bad’ card to overturn.

it’s funny. you suppose you know that every deck should only contain one of each card, but you are a special case, so you shouldn’t be surprised.

there is something about threes, after all.

it doesn’t matter. you still have to see it through — you’ve paid enough attention to the things they all say.

you have always been frightened ( or perhaps you never have ) and at this point it’s difficult to tell whether you will ever see the sun again.

you know that change is coming soon.