The words you whispered were silk sliding across my skin
I felt your steady breath fluttering gently against my neck
I felt safer than I had in months, but what I didn't realise
Was that you were dragging thread-thin blades down my back
so softly that I mistook them for your rough fingers
and that one day,
you would leave me to bleed out,
lying there still blissfully unaware,
all by myself.

Leaning over the bathroom basin
I feel the grief finally overtake me

It looms around my head and makes everything go dark
I shudder like I'm having withdrawal from happiness
I have not received my dosage in far too long

Grief slips around my ear and whispers
things no human should ever bear to hear
grief caresses my face as we look into the mirror together and he pretends to care
then punches me straight in the stomach

gasping for air I feel like I'm drowning
Names come to my head and it's them I'm blaming
but when I look up I see the truth
It's my tears that I'm drowning in.

*It's always been me who's the problem, not them.

I’m selfish.
My first instinct is to be selfish, and I know that, but I can’t help myself.
I act rash and I’m a horrible human being, and the worst thing is I know about it straight after I’ve been selfish and feel too bad but too embarrassed to take it back.

I’d rather be a tiger that eats all the deer with complete bliss than the tiger who kills the deer and mourns its death before eating it. There’s no time for mini funerals everyday.

I’m a walking talking disease. Approach me with precaution and i can never hurt you, but approach me with an open heart and no gloves on is like injecting *** right into the bloodstream.

When you’re selfish you turn your back on someone for your own good.
Some people's problem is, always turning back, seeing, SEEING firsthand the disappointment and anger in their face. What I have? eyes built into the back of my head. and I can never forgive myself for any of it.

I spent my entire life trying to escape life itself.
Reading for hours on end, sitting up late until the sun rose pretending there was no one else in the world and that it was mine for the taking.

In my mind I created my own skies, mountains, colours, political parties, poetry, boyfriends, friends, and controlled the story.
In my head I wrote myself a new life, one that I lived in more than humanity’s reality.
My created reality was more real to me than what was reality to everyone else.

And that’s the thing about it. Reality is what we choose it to be. I chose one where I could be alone. And as long as I believe in my reality, no one can ever claim I do not live a full life.