Don't tell me what I've done is wrong. I clearly already know.
Little fingers that brush over your skin
Leaving no trace of their presence
Light as a feather’s touch
You almost don’t feel them
Hair so thin it’s tragic
Strands falling like leaves
Covering your pillow
When she’s gone, but she’s still there
Air replaced the flesh you once grasped
You said she was beautiful
But that all counts for nothing
When demons are louder than the ones you love
She still loves you
Even when the lights are blinding
From something so simple as standing
Her silent chaos quakes into your mind too
But if there’s less of her,
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be easier to love
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love her just as much as she loves you
I’m not even gonna talk to my friends about this one. I want to keep it a complete secret. No need making everything public like I always do. I’m keeping my private life private. I want this to work out. So badly.
It really hurts that none of my friends have asked about what happened. That’s kind of a big deal. Relapsing after a whole year. But nope, nobody gives a shit. I almost don’t want anyone to at this point. No one actually cares about my well being, they’re just curious. Still, I am amazed. No one. Not even strangers. It really is something else. I guess I’m just that person who falls through the cracks.
I just binged and purged for the first time in almost a year. I can already feel my cheeks swelling. Well, I guess we’re back to this.
So I’ve lost about ten pounds from just being depressed and not hungry. Everyone currently hates me apparently. And if they don’t, it seems like they do because no one will speak to me. I just want to fuck, cry, and sleep.
Maybe this is what was meant to happen. I rescue you from your dark horror show sex life and in return you fall in love with me. Works out perfectly.