People will never truly understand something they've never been through,
Even with the best of attempts.
Then there are the ones who won't even try.
The ones that say;
"Just get over it"
"What is wrong with you?"
"That explains so much about you"
"It's just a phase"
To the people who say that,
I wish I could make you live in my head,
My soul, my skin.
You wouldn't survive, but you would understand.
You would get a glimpse of the blackness I carry,
The longing to tear my skin off, to get rid of the memory
of their touch.
You would understand the want to black out
Just to cleanse the memories of them,
The pain they caused, the pain I can't get rid of.
You can try to placate me all you want
It doesn't fucking help.
"At least this one wasn't as bad as the others"
"He didn't physically hurt you like the others did"
There was still pain and how much does it really matter?
It was still a bad relationship. I lost even more of myself
The self loathing for ever being with any of them makes me physically ill.
My skin crawls and shudders for ever letting them touch me
I want to burn it off. Clean. I just want to be clean.
I don't think I'll ever be clean.
My lungs ache for air, I'm drowning in my own blood
Blood from the cuts that never heal, the memories that won't go away,
The deepness of the stain that's on me.
Am I more than this?
Is there anything left of me to find?
Will I always remain untouchable, to corrupted and stained, even for my friends?
Will it remain bloodstained shards trying to survive?
Always pretending to be fine while constantly crying?
Or will the rage take over and I'll make everyone else drown?
Does it really matter anymore?
Points: 27
Reviews: 35
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