I thought you made me

Better, at first

But now I crave the breaking

Of people who hurt

I willingly give a piece of my soul

To everybody I meet

Then write about how it’s too much

Bad ideas become habits

Habits become obsessions

If someone is not in pain

I suddenly have the space to hurt

But what if someone like me

Has been waiting for this chance?

I don’t like to confront my problems

I try and pretend that I’m ok

I want to tear something apart and so

I scratch my legs in the shower because it doesn’t show

She can never know about that

Going through so much pain

How could I live with myself

Adding to that pile

She’d blame herself

I’m scared that she’d blame herself

I am used to giving my friends advice and help

Sometimes I forget it’s another bad habit

Another obsession

Another

_Are you ok?_

“I’m fine! How about you?”

I want them to say that they aren’t

I want them to hurt

I want to take their pain

And fix it

I finally understand you

Uncle

I finally understand the weariness

Deep in your bones

I guess the point is you didn’t make me better

Just tired

Maybe I’m too young for this kind of weariness

Maybe I’m too old to still say that

You gave me death

And I still don’t know

Why I’m expected

To love you for it.