(TW ****** abuse, suicide)

My body comes with a trigger warning,
to see me naked no longer
means the same thing.
I'm ugly. Scarred,
Both emotionally and physically.
I need help,
but I don't know how to reach out.
My voice has been silenced
by one too many men,
controlling, abusing, ruining.


Recently, the emotional pain I had been
rejecting when I remembered my ****
hit me all at once.
I couldn't breath, I couldn't see, I couldn't feel
anything except, well,
suddenly, the knot that never disappears from my chest
grew. Minutely at first, then it became more confident.
It knew it was taking over my body: my arms and legs and feet and fingers went paralytic, all I could hear was a ringing noise, raging in my ears.


Sometimes, I mix *** with death. Both seem like the ending to me. I'll fantasise about being dressed up for ***, I'll slide downstairs and seductively choose my lover. I'll debate over men, women and everyone else in between and outside, but I know from the beginning which I'll choose. I'll slink over to the knives and select the biggest and baddest I own. I won't shake, I won't back down. I can feel it sliding between the layers of my skin as we speak now, I can feel my body weakening.

I'm so tired, my friends. I've spent so many years fighting back and now all I want to do is sleep, forever.