I could call you a thief.
The way you snuck into my brain
and made a mockery out of my neurons,
at night I can feel them laughing…
I wish the joke wasn’t me.
I’ve spent years,
upon years,
upon years,
trying to make a home of this body,
just to want to rip myself back out.
I want to scrub you away like a stain,
but you seem to be the worst kind.
The type that won’t leave,
until you feel it’s fit.
You fit yourself
into places you do not belong.
This skin,
a guard of my temple,
the one you have imposed on,
Simply
Because
You can.
I feel your hands,
firmly placed around my sanity
like a noose.
I’m begging you to cut me loose,
but I’m just a misguided ghost,
in the shadow of a body I once owned.
It’s too late.
You seized this body
with no remorse.
I shouldn’t be so surprised;
I have always been told men are born to take.
Boys will be boys right?
I mean
women are toys,
just another arbitrary pussy in your arsenal.
I guess I knew you loved a challenge,
but I couldn’t guess what that really meant.
They told me one out of five would have to tell this story,
who the fuck knew it would be me?
What do I do?
When everytime I blink I see your face.
I thought thieves wore masks,
that would make this robbery
a whole lot easier to swallow.
Your kisses
tasted so sweet,
now every time I touch my lips together,
they seem to be laced with poison,
and you wouldn’t even know it.
What did I do?
I was too afraid to let my knees buckle,
too prideful to let myself lose,
playing a two person game with one controller,
there was no way for me to win,
so I pretended to play along.
I couldn’t have pressed exit even if I tried;
I wonder if you realized
you’re the only one good at playing video games.
I’ve spent the last four days
trying to forget your smile,
trying to pretend I didn’t see the devil in your eyes,
trying to wipe away the reticence of your hands on my hips,
your lips on my lips,
your fingertips…
You always said
life is a variable
you are the constant,
you were right.
Constant sleepless nights,
constant fear,
constant pain,
constant wishing I would shed my skin,
I hate you.
When I said you would be my muse,
I hoped I’d be writing about the man who stole my heart,
not the man who stole my body.
I’ve become
just like you,
a trespasser.
My bones shake,
as I try to wiggle my way back into my frame.
You always had a way
of waking up the crazy in me.
Who knew it would never sleep again?
You asked me
if I regret meeting you.
You kicked down all my doors
and found comfort
resting in every part of my brain.
I’d crack open my skull
and rip you out if I could.
So yes.
To the boy who has walked out of my life,
carrying what is left of me
slug over his shoulder,
with the rest of his sins to pray away on Sunday…
I wish I never met you.