i know what you think.
i can read it on your face,
it oozes out through your pores
drips from your eyes
like salt-filled tears at a funeral.

i know what you think.
i can read the silent judgement,
i can see that ******* pity
cloaking your whole being
like a snake right before it squeezes
the life out of you or me or both of us.

and i hate it.
i hate that you feel obligated to help me,
but you don't know how.
i hate that you think i deserve better,
because i know i do not.
i hate that the only thing you can offer
is a pathetic "stay strong",
because those words have been repeated so many times
over that they cease to have any meaning at all.
i hate that you want to help me,
because i don't want your help, *******,
i just wanted you to listen without the slightest shred
of commitment or concern.

let's turn back time a little.

back to right after you asked me if i was okay
and i said i was
and you saw the walls reflected in my face
and you knew.

but you didn't push it.
and that's for the best, because i am
a whirling storm of lightning and rain and thunder
and clouds almost as black as my eyes.

don't force me to have to save you
from the person i know i have become
if i can't even save myself
from me.