Nothing but skin.

I cant even feel them leaving. As if they never came. They never existed, and they never cut into my soul. They never claimed jagged and mismatched pieces of flesh bound together in uneven scars. Even as blood pours from wounds cried shut. But they did. They came, they burnt, they claimed and I screamed. They did. They were.
I don’t want a fresh start. I don’t want my skin brushed clean. I want to feel your scent on it like telltale dirt of a mismatched remedy
I don’t want the words on the walls to become memories of another person, detached emotions of a perfect me. Little, broken, dirty perfect me.


You’re saying goodbye. You’re saying I was your poison and you are being exorcised. You are saying that every single love I poured into your being only made you worse off. You are saying that the very reason why the mirror bled every morning as you locked the door became stronger with my every word. You are saying that you’re growing and learning and knowing the right way. You’re saying I hurt you.

Can I believe in the sanctity of anything, and cry out for practicality to leave me the fuck alone? Can it make a difference if you choose to slide into a should’ve, would’ve decision?

It’s nothing but skin.


I want you to be selfish. Please, just beg for help. Just choose to stop drowning. Choose to breathe in something other than air. Let me build you a castle of screams, let me pull away the chains with nothing but silence. Let me pull you out and drag you in, into the life you always wanted. Let my lips serve for something other than for cracked goodbyes.