she knows. she’s known for a long time.

that didn’t make her care.

i told her. how he didn’t listen to me,

only took what he wanted.

i guess she thought it was a story, or a joke.

like i would humor such a topic in such a way.

like she didn’t see me crawling out of my skin,

in his presence, i was shaking violent.

she knew. she had known the longest,

other than myself.

it didn’t matter. she did what she wanted.

she saw his eyes sparkle, heard his kind laugh,

how i once had.

she decided that meant he must be pure,

i must be lying.

i understand the confusion,

i once thought his eyes were oceans to get lost in.

but in reality,

they are ice, and they trap you underneath the surface.

you don’t expect it when it comes,

because he’s looking at you with those sparkly eyes…

he’s laughing that kind laugh…

did it feel wrong when you kissed him?

could you feel the monster deep inside?

or was he right there at the surface,

playing along with the mood just right?

once you let the monsters in,

you become their den.

he has been festering in my soul for years,

but you haven’t heard me screaming.

you wouldn’t even listen,

you didn’t even care.

and you both will burn together,

vile remains cherished nowhere.

how could he…..?

why would he…….?

but, wait….

why would you?

when you knew?


not talking

“you’re not talking to me again? cool.”

you walk away and slam the door.

no, of course I’m not.

why would I want to when you act like that?

as if it isn’t enough, everything else you have done to me?

you have ruined friendships for me, lied to and about me, stolen from me…

you are nothing I want in my life anymore.

when I see you, I kind of blur you out.

you’re the smudged fingerprints on old pictures that I can never quite remove fully.

you’re the nostalgia I feel over any old memory of being a girl.

but we are women now,

and I won’t have how you treat me.

I won’t sit still while you childishly tease me.

I won’t let your words touch more than my skin,

like a mist from a sprinkler I can walk through in the summertime.

you can spit all you want,

I won’t swallow your dark feelings.

there is nothing to gain from someone who has no walls or ceiling.

you cannot control yourself,

first we’re fine, then you’re thrusting a knife down my spine.

and no longer will I play a part.

there are no more words of mine that you could deserve jolting at your ears.

the leech

we used to be close,

you held my hand as i walked through paths of broken glass.

you heard my stories and my cries,

were always an ear by which i could reside and hide inside.

each time we were together,

i fell into your arms, and you protected me like a flower losing its petals.

you leaned up my chin,

asked, “can i kiss you?”

i said yes, and i melted at the sweetness i saw in your eyes.

for so long, you chased me.

i was that pretty butterfly, just out of your hands reach.

i was that balloon you let go of too soon,

making you jump up and off your feet to try to catch me.

but, you never caught me.

i guess that festered inside of you, rotting you out…

some time had gone by,

you started facing me with so many lies.

i broke down, having no one to hold my hand.

i felt completely abandoned,

dried up of all love and life i had been radiating.

you didn’t even care.

you were holding the hand of someone who i had raised.

your lies pinched their way through your teeth,

darting their ways at my eyes.

you came for blood,

you wouldn’t give in kindly, you weren’t done.

you’ve shared my home for two years,

and every time i walk past your disgraceful shape,

i feel myself become overwhelmed with hate.

i hurt, and i know you don’t care.

you lied to her, lied to me,

just to get your way, living free, so unfair.

you have been handed everything,

like you’re the prince of this shit castle.

you suck dry everything that lands into your hands.

the holes in the walls of what once was will never be repaired.

this isn’t burning bridges,

when we’re standing on the same one.

i just want to make it across alone,

but have every one of you behind me, sitting and waiting to judge.

how do you take so much,

when you know you’re giving nothing in return?

how do you sit there doing nothing,

just hiding alone in her room?

you couldn’t get to me,

so you took the one i raised almost my whole life.

the leech will always find a way,

to make you lose sight of what is right.


I miss who I was before I knew you. Not all the alcohol I drank to be numb, but the sweet girl that was just looking to be loved; the girl that would do anything to give love. The beautiful, milky white girl that had a world of colors behind her eyes, her laugh, her words. Now I’m a broken, fragmented piece of myself, only I can’t find all the shards to place perfectly back into their packing order. I flinch at your touch, even at your words. I question everything that floats out of your mouth before it even tickles your vocal chords. When you hold me, I feel vacant in your arms; a spineless creature tucking me into themselves, feeding off of any love left loss inside myself. You fed off of everything I had in me; any confidence or love I had for myself, you threw it on the floor like the many pictures I used to have of us that I had to rid my entire life of just to drown out the hurt a glance at them will make me feel. I miss those pictures sometimes, but I know I am better off kept blind from any ounce of happiness you ever gave me; those moments were too few and too far between, anyways. You were always too busy blaming me for your own crippling damage inside your head and heart, too choked by the dark, dirty water to even come up for air to see what you had caused up on the surface. And any time you let yourself open your dormant eyes, you refused to believe that you were at fault and only sucked more life from me, telling me it had been my fault and that I wasn’t easy to love. How could someone love something so broken? You made sure I felt like no one ever could, so how could I leave when I mean nothing to no soul left on this world you created in front of me? How could I just walk out so easily, when I had already been staggering for miles to try and find your heart again? Did I ever even really see it, or was that all part of the plot as well? I never meant anything to you; don’t go crying over spilt milk when you’re lactose intolerant.

emotional abuse

Does changing how you treated someone really make the difference for them to see you differently?

Do you think it really makes them able to see your change?

How does that make you become the victim, because you made someone so unable to put their trust in you?

How does that make you the good one, when you are the reason anything is even like this at all?

Changing your habits doesn’t erase emotional abuse; How do you think that you are good, just because you claim it now?

You claimed that the whole time, until your guilt decided to turn on you and break you down; Why did it always take so long?

At least when I screwed up, I knew it; I came right to you. Why could you never do the same?

Maybe if you hadn’t lied right to my face so many times, when all I wanted was the truth, I would be able to fall into any comfort you may hold. But how do I know that you won’t pull everything out from under me, in an instant, like you have so many times?

You are not the good one, just because you claim change.

Someone good wouldn’t break someone down how you did, and still expect compensation.

You expect me to just respond well to you now.


Every time that I ever let myself get comfortable, you left the next instant.

And that is why we are where we are. That is why you are terrifying, just being yourself.


“Believe me. Please.”

There was a time where things were easy.

You didn’t have to beg to be believed.

I didn’t have to wonder or worry how I always do, now.

There was a time when I felt like I was what you wanted.

Where I felt like I was enough, and what you needed.

Now I am just a constant problem, and you nitpick at my bones.

“I promise. I want you.”

I waited so long for your words to be sweet.

I held on for too long, thinking ‘but I have changed, so maybe you can.’

That isn’t an excuse.

My fumbling fingers will never be able to turn your pages.

You are a book I cannot open, because I already know the ending.

And you are a horror story that never lets me sleep at night.