You’ve traded sadness for illness,
devised a physical manifestation
to the reeling of your mind.

You’ve covered scars with tired smiles
and hidden the best parts of yourself,
all so that you might better conform
to their ideals,
forgetting along the way
your own.

Now I’m asking
(begging)
you
to pick yourself up,
mend your barren eyes,
remind yourself of who you are
(loved)
and who you will be.

For the thought of life minus you
is the guillotine of my mind
and weighs heavy on my
troubled heart.

Distant eyes took shelter beneath permanently creased brows. Endless days filled with nothing but lifeless stares,  hollow smiles - so fake they scared me.

I should have known.

Enshrouding myself in my own little world, I barely noticed the despair encasing your every breath. I let myself grow bitter towards your imperfections, rendering me useless in saving you. Stood by and watched you forget how to eat; shut my ears to your frightening cries for help. Grew frustrated with you for no reason and every reason.

Now I know.

They say it's not my fault.
"There's nothing you could have said, nothing you could have done."

They're lying.

When you left, an immense pit of quick sand swallowed me nearly whole; I've been fighting for breath ever since. Now I know that what I did and said was the opposite of what you needed. And that words make all the difference, they can even save a life.

That last fight provided me the perfect opportunity to help you. Instead, I gave up.
How could I ever forgive myself for that?

I wish sorry was enough.