The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and beneath her demure facade
is a turbulence
no one should ever know.
the same eyes that light up
when she talks about her
photo shoots
or coffee
or me
can darken in an instant
and I can't do anything
but hold her as she cries.
the taste of tear drops
on her lips
is bittersweet
and the salty tang
reminds me
that this is my battle
too.
sometimes she'll call me
in the middle of the night
and I know that something's wrong
as soon as I hear her ringtone
(our song)
because even though
her voice is the most gorgeous sound
I've ever heard,
she would rather carefully craft her thoughts
with texts
than open her heart
candidly.
I answer the phone
with shaking fingers
and ask, "Are you okay?"
there is a pause
and I swear to god
there are a million deaths
and a million births
in that space of silence.
"Baby,
the demons are talking
and I don't think
I can take it."
her voice is a hoarse shadow
of its usual smooth sweetness
wounded by chokes and sobs.
"Everything will be okay."
my words are as much reassurance
to myself
as they are to her.
"I'm on my way."
and when I find her
I hold her tight
and I'm relieved she's still breathing.
but the familiar glint
of a razor blade
stained with red
catches my eye
and I start to cry
too.
I pull her beneath the safety of the blankets
and kiss her forehead
as our fingers entwine
and I start to sing her favorite songs
as a mantra to ward off the demons.
she's soon asleep
and I untangle our limbs
and give her one last kiss
before standing unsteadily.
without hesitation
I grab the demon's weapon
from her nightstand
and shove it in my pocket
because I know the trash cans aren't safe.
something snaps inside me
and I throw open her drawer
to reveal dozens more.
I take those, too,
and I search the rest of her room
tearing through her photographs
and vinyl records
and the finger paintings we made together
to collect every blade I could find.
I soon find myself in her bathroom
ripping open her medicine cabinent
grimacing at the bottle emblazoned with her name
full of the pills she never takes.
I collapse onto the cold tile of the ground
knees drawn to my chest
eyes stained with tears
pockets full of razor blades
heart devoid of hope.
The girl I love
has demons inside her head
and they talk to me
too.