The number of stitches in my thigh,
punctures in my wrists,
the number of times you tried to **** me.

The number of paces I creased the carpet
with contemplating
how to escape you.

The number of hours you told me in bed
I'd be sorry after I left you,
naked and stabbing with your voice.

The number of  times I told my friends
your anger was disgusting, scary. The number
of times they told me don't worry.

The number of times you banged on my door,
****** knuckled, how many times I begged
for death, how many nights you barely left me
breathing.

To tell the truth
It should have been you
Who authored this sad poem

Instead of me
Who clearly didn't see
Your lies as they were told

The heart ache that I'm feeling
Goes beyond the measure of this man
The emptiness left inside my chest
Should be yours my dear instead

To tell the truth
It should be you
That's crying over me

Instead of the reverse
Held deep in this curse
Of what's hard to believe

If I had known
It would read out in poem
This pen you could have kept

As I guard my heart
Yes, even the aching part
With what little I have left

No words of wisdom can cure
a feeling felt
by the victim so poor.
A killer coming out
before the clock strikes three
stabbing you from the inside
Oh, anxiety

Now you start to feel shaky
And you know
it's another night without sleep
The feeling so nostalgic
Oh, anxiety

Those days were over
Finally
I knew my soul is free
From my body hanging
on the ceiling
Oh, anxiety