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chelseyPoems
Sometimes your arms feel like home, They hold me tight, your hands Stroking the back of my head, Reassuring me that, yes, I am okay and, yes, Everything will be okay Because you are here, So there's nothing to fear, And I couldn't possibly feel safer. But sometimes your arms feel like a cage. There's just enough air for me to breathe, But I am trapped in your fierce, unwanted grip. I'm sorry that I don't feel like sharing a bed After I told you I was depressed and you Told me to stop freaking out and calling you. I'm sorry that your words hit me like a tidal wave And brought me to the bathroom With a knife in my hand. I'm sorry that one, two, three, four cuts later, I was bleeding out on the floor, Practically unconscious, but awake enough To see the growing pool of red. You're sorry I resorted to harming myself. I'm sorry that I didn't finish the job. I grew up thinking that love, only love, Could save me from myself, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe love is the thing I need to be saved from. Maybe love is the real monster here. Every story has a villain. I just never imagined that you'd be mine.
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Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
You're Not Who I Thought You Were
Sometimes your arms feel like home, They hold me tight, your hands Stroking the back of my head, Reassuring me that, yes, I am okay and, yes, Everything will be okay Because you are here, So there's nothing to fear, And I couldn't possibly feel safer. But sometimes your arms feel like a cage. There's just enough air for me to breathe, But I am trapped in your fierce, unwanted grip. I'm sorry that I don't feel like sharing a bed After I told you I was depressed and you Told me to stop freaking out and calling you. I'm sorry that your words hit me like a tidal wave And brought me to the bathroom With a knife in my hand. I'm sorry that one, two, three, four cuts later, I was bleeding out on the floor, Practically unconscious, but awake enough To see the growing pool of red. You're sorry I resorted to harming myself. I'm sorry that I didn't finish the job. I grew up thinking that love, only love, Could save me from myself, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe love is the thing I need to be saved from. Maybe love is the real monster here. Every story has a villain. I just never imagined that you'd be mine.
#love#suicide#relationship#romance#story#self-harm#villain
chelsey
Written by
chelsey
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
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