Wake up little darling,
You need to breathe
There's no knight in shining armour
Telling you to
Watching you do
Letting you go

Wake up little darling
One second at a time
One word at a time
One wound at a time

Smile.
Breathe.

She said, it will follow you anywhere, everywhere.
And she was right. She is right.
It is here. Now. Next to me. Inside me.
And I can't breathe.

"You look prettier when you're in one of your funks", he said.
"Like a more fragile, daintier version. The feistiness reigned in, but visible just below the surface," he said.

And she thought, "Fuck you. Who the hell needs to be pretty."

Precisely because I know you so well, darling,
So I know how easy this is for you.

How easy it is to leave. Me.

Easiest.

Sometimes it scares me how you know no feeling. Feelingless except for those that are present. Of the moment. Induced.

But then I remember how capable I too, of that.

Because we are sociopaths, darling. You and I. Both of us. Separately and together.

You said: You should go outside. Get a hobby.

I know then that you're the type blessed with nonexistent knowledge of what depression is.
How do you go outside when each breath is a struggle. Like you need to start counting your inhale and exhale - one two, in out. Because sometimes you sink so much that you forget. To breathe.
Or you don't really want to. Breathe.
When you go for days, not eating, wishing that painlessly one day you wake up and no longer are alive.
When you are so afraid to live, but you don't want to die. Yet.
I take my heart and I squeeze it tight, hoping that the tears would come.
But my tears are as numb. Lying below the surface. Until maybe my eyes would explode. And then I would be able to cry. And die. Or not die.

Every turn of the key I would think it's you in repentance.
But that storyline only exists for people who don't know.
How wretched a beautiful life can be.

In pain I lay me down to wake.
In blood I stretch out my hands.

I know You are there.
Only in You.
So show me the way.

Please.

Show me the way.

I think I cut to see whether anything else can cause the same pain that you cause me. Hopefully more. So your pain in me doesn't matter anymore. But despite the tears and the blood, your pain still strangles me. So I keep cutting. I keep cutting.