Why on Earth Did You Give Me a Bicycle? by DarlingWrites, literature
Literature
Why on Earth Did You Give Me a Bicycle?
For whatever reason you gave me a bicycle. It was very kind of you; an act of generosity that will probably haunt me but I cannot fathom what you were thinking. I would like to keep it locked up in the garage next to other fragile and valuable things; like family photos, and Christmas ornaments and cards; things I don't want to break, special things. But when your friend gives you a bike you had better put it to use, even though I have not ridden a bike in years and I am terrified. Mom and Dad taught me how to ride a bike. They say you never forget how. But it is not the riding that I fear. It's the bike; the size of the wheels, that there might be a part lose somewhere. It's the terrain, what if I hit a rock and the jostling knocks me down and I break something? What if I ride? I kick off the curb, and the bike wobbles, my heart leaps in my throat, but we manage to keep our balance, the bicycle and I? And there is the whizzing of parts, the rhythm of peddling, and The bicycle and
(TW: toxic thoughts, suicidal ideation)
At 2 AM I indulge in my destructive thoughts
“You can’t write anymore”
“You don’t love properly
And what’s more no one will ever love you”
There’s something decadent and delicious about the self-fladulatian;
Immersing myself in the warm, comforting waste water of the void and letting it carry me away
Down the rabbit hole of lies and half truths and truths without the context of the future
That give me the excuse to give up,
To lie down, to die
“You’re too selfish to serve God”
“Your art is phony”
I give myself the permissi