This white blank page reminds me of
The stains that you left on my skin
The blood you poured
Like soup from a can
Thick, and willing

There are lines on this page
Similar to the ones
On my thighs

The ones on the paper
Are inked blue
My thighs are inked
With a red that seeps from within
Seeps past my bones
Past my skin
Past my final layer
Of protection

Protecting me from you
Or protecting me
From myself?
After all most wounds
Are self inflicted

This paper is straight
With no curved lines
I like how simple it is
In comparison to my futile body
My body,
With complex arteries and pipes
That twist and turn
Amongst my bones and organs

The day I am covered
With as many lines
As an exercise book
Is the day I will be willing to learn
I will have enough lines
To write on
Enough room to learn
The cavities of my brain will be free

Thank you for giving me
This opportunity
This thought process
From just a single sheet
Of paper.

Without you
I would be

Nothing

I rest my head upon my bed
To feel safe and comforted
The images of you,
Obstructed by veins and skin
To have those blankets;
Wrapped around me,
Makes me feel untouchable
Being myself with no one else around
I feel whole again
I did until you wrecked it for me
That act alone was,
Horrid
That was unacceptable

You are cruel and horrible
In every single sense of the phrase
Your words left wounds far worse a mark
Then a thousand daggers could ever do
It seemed like centuries past
And I was still bleeding
From the wounds you had inflicted
I bled all your words that you had left lodged
Even in the darkest parts of my brain
All over my wooden floor
You woke me up from my deep slumber
And for that you are not forgiven
Closed eyes are my only salvation from you

My bed,
With its sheets and comfort
Has now replaced you
They flutter shut and I no longer need to see
The darkness you left behind
Veins, capillaries, arteries and more
Protect my eyes
Protect them
From the image you engraved inside my head
What you left deep inside my mind

My heart has been wrenched from my being
And yet I’m still expected to breathe
Breathing,
Was a lot simpler before you arrived
A simple rise and fall of the chest
Has now become nothing
My chest no longer has
Space for you and your remains

My once yellow walls are now stained blue
Blood now covers my wooden floor
You never should have came through my little front door

They say life is about risks and I think I am finally beginning to understand and comprehend what they meant. My risks that I would take are not considered abnormal or even to be risks at all.

But falling asleep at 4pm not knowing when I will wake, is a risk to me.
Deciding whether to reach over and hold your hand or not, is a risk to me.
The decision on whether I should go to lessons or stay home, is a risk to me.

These aren’t the risks sometimes dares you to do in a ploy of childish antics.
These aren’t the risks your mother told you about when you were sixteen.
These aren’t the risks your health teachers handed out pamphlets about in their free time.

No.
They are far more personal, intimate.

I question myself frequently about these risks. Should I take them or shall I venture back inside my skin, allowing my bones to be the gates. Locked from the outer world where feelings aren’t shared and rumors are spread. Where a glance can mean so much more then wandering eyes. When children become monsters and things they swore they would never evolve too.

I won’t take these risks because I am afraid.
Afraid of all the possibilities.

I used to be liked

I used to have friends 

I used to want to try at things 

I used to like myself 

I used to be able to cope with things

I used to be able to sleep 

I used to not have lines on my skin

I used to have a powerful mind 

I used to be smart

I used to be invited places

I used to know everyone

I used to know who I was
I used to not have panic attacks
I used to be able to make anyone laugh
I used to be able to act normal

I used to not be completely horrible 

I used to breathe