every time you said those words

they've felt worse than being stabbed in the back

my thoughts race against my mind already,

everyday,

enough for my blood to cry out

my heart feels attacked

I know I didn't say anything

well, I did

I don't remember much of it

but those words

I don't want them in my memory

I hate being attached

to the anxiety of experiencing another relapse, like that

because I was stuck in a place

where I couldn't love, accustomed in agony

where I could eat,

but my hunger stayed, even if I ate

where I cried without comfort,

and no words wiped my tears away

where I could lay down in bed, but never rest in peace

where I could talk,

but I tried to force out my words before

but I being too vulnerable to others

was the reason I was where I came to be,

where I had to focus on getting help, but I was alone with my dying sense of self

I had to force myself out more,

by pretending to be, an exaggeration of ego

I wasn't me, I wasn't happy

I hated who I had to be,

so they could see someone better,

someone smiling, something other than me

so one day,

maybe hope would convince me

with this character, I created

in my image, in my future

I'd be free.