Expect recklessness.

"We think you're reckless." Is that good or bad? I'm not sure in which way i should take it. "Unexpected," the words she chose. Unexpected to her; at most? I guess i have hidden versions of myself. They are all me, but which one am i? One subsides while another presence. All existent, as shallow as skin, as deep as bones, as obvious as truth. Do you see the sarcasm in mist with my tongue? "My insides are rotting." She's said that before. She's not decaying, she's just tragically blooming. Just because it's under covers, doesn't mean it's hidden. Just hidden under versions of self. Beautiful disaster , "bleeming" existence. She's pressed and cracking. How do we fill our voids? Space can haunt, so fill me up. Release my breath with distinguishable fragments. Smokey mouthed and blurred, yet beautifully clear; can you see this version now or am i still reckless and unexpected?

EXPECT RECKLESSNESS. 

I'm rotting if you are.