I'm sorry for disappointing you,
again. And how it's always that
7 digit number I call.
I can't hurt anyone else.
I feel my mistakes in more ways
than one. Sometimes, I wish my eyes
were spawns of the night so this self-
hatred would escape recognition and
I wouldn't see my shame loom.
Right now, I don't know how to face
myself, and I don't know if I can look
at you... your gaze is far too composed,
so concentrated as if you are trying
to read my pain out of me.
[I didn't mean to]
But the truth remains the same.
I thought I could control it,
until the need to feel alive became
my center point
and nothing else mattered,
not the temperature or the time or
how much trouble I would be in if
caught and how she would find it
hard to trust me.
I don't know how I reached that
threshold of desperation;
it seems juvenile and hypothetical.
Why why why why
would you go that far??
I've hidden the bad times well before,
but I just couldn't depart like I was okay.
You whisper to me that we can't pretend
like it never happened.
[I don't know what to say, now]
-
Written 9/12/14 @ 11:25 AM
Freewrite to get emotions out.
