I won’t tell you where I work,
or what job I have.
But I’m twenty-one years old
and I’ve witnessed five people die.
And I know… I’ll most probably witness more.

I saw my first death at eighteen.
Two more at nineteen.
One at twenty.
And the last… at twenty-one.

I still remember their names.
Their faces.
The way they called me darling.

I still remember the food they loved
carrot soup,
toast buttered right to the very edges.
And the food they hated
Peas that had the consistency of thick porridge.

I remember their coffee orders.
Two sugars.
Heavy on the milk,
with a biscuit on the side for comfort.

And I remember how empty their room looked after.
Their belongings, folded and neatly placed.
Empty chairs,
where their family once kept vigil.
“Get well soon” cards
scattered like broken promises.

When they left,
They carried a piece of me with them.
And I gave it willingly.

Because it mattered.
Those small moments.
The ones I’ll carry.
The ones I’ll hold on to.

I hate myself…
for not telling you what you did to me.

From that moment on,
I couldn’t see you as someone who cared
because you didn’t.

You were drunk.
Shouting at the world,
how it had wronged you,
how it had stolen a life
that was never yours to hold.

And you hurt me.
You held on until I bruised.
My arms, my legs painted in blue and red
You held on until every drop of love,
every trace of compassion I had for you,
was gone.

From that moment…
I saw you as someone else.
Someone I cannot meet in the eye
for fear that if I do,
I won’t be able to breathe.

Suffocated by that night.
The pain I left go unsaid,
The hurt I left go unheard,  
The dignity you stole.


You took the friendship I gave you…
and crushed it in your talons,
the same claws you drove into me.

Well… here we are again.

I went out for drinks at the local pub,
thinking maybe I wouldn’t be invited
because you’ve been happier with other people.
And I know you’re happy with them…
but I feel like a dog chained to a post,
no sign of its owner ever coming back.
Left behind by you. Again.

I’m sad. I’m angry.
But more than anything
I’m numb.
Numb to what I give,
numb to what I am.
Because you’ve shown me, time and time again,
that I contribute nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

I’m useful when it suits you,
and invisible when it doesn’t.
Used when it’s convenient,
discarded when it’s not.

My chest aches like a wound,
a pain that refuses to heal.
Do I really mean nothing?
Am I even anything at all?
What worth emotional, monetary,
Do I hold in your eyes?
Maybe something,
Probably nothing.

You’ve shown me in your absence of care.
And now, worse
You’ve crossed a line.
That I thought friends at least
Would never cross

You hurt me. Physically.
I showed my best friend the bruises.
The one person I trust most in this world.
They were outraged.
I cried into the phone
as their voice cracked with anger for me.

And I am terrified
terrified you’ll do it again.
Terrified the bruises will grow into something more.

Maybe that’s all I am to you
a bag to be punched.
A thing to dig your nails into until I bleed.
A stool to climb on,
a vessel to pour your relief into.

Every time I ask
to share something,
anything as simple as a film,
or a meal,
you say you’re busy.
Already have plans.

But then I see you.
See you watching a film,
ordering food
with someone else.
Someone new.

And I’m done begging.
Done giving willingly,
When I only see you in scraps,
in borrowed moments,
in the silence between your excuses.

I’m mourning a loss
That hasn’t even been buried yet.

I’m close.
So close to walking to the river,
Again.
To swim into the void,
to sink into the end that should have come
long ago.

These last few years
the best and the worst
will have been my everything.

And maybe in my absence,
you’ll finally gain something.
Maybe then,
I’ll have been worth… anything at all.

Maybe…

I wonder what it's like for anyone who doesn't resort to self destructive behavior to see the fresh cuts and the scars that are still there from years ago.

Hey, its me um. This is going to be the last time that i call you. I’ve tried to call you so many times and there’s just no response and I feel like the more that I push you to tell me why you left the more you're disappearing. So I figured I’d just leave a voicemail this one last time.

I think the reason why I'm trying so hard to get you to give me an answer it's just because I felt happy with you. And now I don't, I feel miserable.

Recently I realised you were never the reason I was happy. I just allowed myself to be happy with you. And I know now that I don't need you to answer me to get closure. And i think it's time for me to discover how to be happy alone and I actually have you to thank for leaving me so that i can discover that

So thank you for the good times and uh yeah, i guess this is goodbye uh yeah
bye.

It’s getting bad again
The numbness
The emptiness
The complete and utter exhaustion
It’s back

It was a normal day,
And then you arrived.
And now all i can think about
Its drowning in that lake that i failed to do a year ago,
Or the quick motion of a blade on my skin,
Or even the sizzling of a cigarette on my skin.
I am slipping back into old habits of controlling my pain
All because i saw you,
Again.