I often find myself looking at my skin and I think about you,, I think about so many things like the way you made it feel with words - but also with your body. About how you made me feel comfortable in it and how sometimes I wanted to peel myself out of it because it was never going to be enough for you and Im sorry about that I wanted to be better but I couldn’t and now we’re over and I’m sorry.

I know you always hated apologises and this isn’t one and it ought to be and I’m sorry its not\

earlier in the morning light that either renews me or ruins me I wrote something on myself for you, I’m not sure why I inscribed it on my body that you will never touch again both because why would you want to and I wouldn’t let you, but I did, so, you should know (more because I can’t stand keeping it to myself when its meant for you)

My heart (scar) doesn’t need (scar) you.
You never helped it
bloom. Now I’m stuck
scrawling (bruise) stories on my skin to cover scars
that I made, but you left.

everything sounds pretentious when you read over it especially when its written in ink on such an ugly canvas and I’m sorry. I miss you even though you don’t feel the same.




//ale a