Every day, at some point, we stop talking.
Life happens, time goes on. It’s normal.
Every night I convince myself of the same thing.
That at some point that day, you started hating me.
How am I supposed to escape this?
How can I heal a wound that is both companion and jailer?
I am a shadow you cast.
Without you, I don’t exist.
So that’s what I do every night.
I cut myself to pieces, and cry that you weren’t there to stop me.
Cut, carve, and butcher myself until all I see is blood.
How could you do this thing you never did?