You’ve continued to Gaslight me
and minimize my concerns
whether they’re about me or you,
and it’s making me crazy; it’s making me doubt myself and
question
my every move
when it comes to you.
And sometimes
what i do with my life.
And I’m not sure anymore darling;
i don’t think this is light anymore.
This is dark—
it’s gotten quite dark.

When did it become midnight?
It’s pitch black out here,
and i didn’t notice until the pink faded away
and i turned to look at u
instead of the dark blue.

You were my distraction,
my medication,
my muse.

And what’s worse is that i still haven’t quite gotten a handle on deciphering between whether or not
to get upset over something that was not ill-intended...
but i do.
I always do.
And it’s my fault
because it’s my mind;
it’s something the chemicals in my brain do.
And i guess I just can’t do this anymore because
you’re not healthy for me.
My brain doesn’t seem to be producing those chemicals I need
when I'm without you.
Do you know what that’s called?
Codependency.

So I’d look at your eyes
instead of the night sky;
the sky that was as black as the ink in my journal,
where I write endlessly about the things you do that hurt me because I can’t, I (just) can’t tell you them.
(Your schizophrenia and depression do regardless.)
And anyway, you tell me otherwise.
You make me feel crazy, remember?
Like I have memory loss or an early onset of dementia...

You motherf*cker.

All the while,
I never realized we were in the dark.
We’re still in the dark.
So, what do I do?

What will I be left with if I do that thing you’re going to tell me to do?