my hands are shaking my bottom lip is trembling and I stand, like the rocks that await to be hit by the sea, I raise a fist and take it to my own left upper-arm, it hurts a little but not enough, I do it again, raising my right fist and striking it against my other arm, this time it hurt a lot more, but I'm still not satisfied, I hit and I hit for around twenty minutes until my arm is all kinds of colours; blue, purple, yellow, I am covered in bruises; I am crying now and my vision is blurred; I pick up the phone and listen to the voicemail you left for me when I was too drunk to say my own name, and I lie down on the floor trying to remember how your lips moved when you spoke your words of hate and how your eyes would always fill with tears when you saw me take the bottle to my mouth