I wrote a note today, how I felt. I was finally honest, even if only with a piece of paper. I loved that note, the comfort it gave me. It didn't cry or shame when it heard my pain. But like scars, it was visible. It could be seen. So I had to shred my honesty, piece by piece to make sure no eyes would see my insides. My words were not for anyone but myself. The graphite on my fingers is easier hidden than the blood on my skin. So tonight I wash my hands, so I can write again tomorrow.

Even when the water isn't running,
I have an overwhelming urge to curl up
On the shower floor.

I'm on the ground when
You look down at me and say
"Just get up".
But I'm glued to the floor.

You took my breath away. Hearts beat much louder without the distraction of lungs. Long and slow, and so rewarding, you showed me things from imagination. Your thrill made me dizzy, a dangerous game. You could be temporary or permanent, and it was never up to me.

Kiss me with your hot breath, lick me with your tongue.
Make me bite my lip, and hide the mark after you're done.
I want you in the morning, I get you every night.
Then I keep the proof of you hidden out of sight.

I miss the way you touch my skin, the surprise of your cold setting me on fire. Your motions trace against my life, reminding me to breath. I'm consenting to loss of control, giving into impulse. I count the days since, and crave the next.

My ears act as bowls
For tears when I cry.
My heart turned to holes
When you wished you would die.

Trust has been tested,
Left weakened and tried.
It's earth that's eroded
By tears that I cried.

Refusing to move,
You sat in the storm.
I offered you shelter,
But you hate the warm.

With ears full of tears
I braved the rain.
For you, I was drowned
in a sea of your pain.

If God is real I’m angry. Holy theft
Is no excuse for youthful death. I cry
And pray, but it’s too late. Until you left
I had refused the thought of heaven. I
Feel guilty for not knowing the whole truth
Of death. To wonder what is after life
Is painful when we’re stuck in naïve youth.
Our hearts and minds are stabbed by grief: a knife.
What if I had been there for your last breath?
I cry. I’ll never know, would you have smiled
To hear my voice before the calm of death?
In terms of life you were only a child.
We won’t forget, our hearts they wear your pin.
For you, I’ll be aware of what’s a sin.