I could make a graph of every part of me that your sharp tongue killed,
the smiles you clawed out from every muscle until I forgot that joy was even an option to begin with
I could create a timeline of every moment a part of my soul died at your hands,
so casual, while I died on the inside until breathing itself felt wrong,
the dead don't breathe, and I surely haven't been living
I could draw a map of all the places you tore my heart out
right before you would tell me to keep my filthy blood of your shiny, white floors
until I would leave my heart at the door, cautious of when you'd leave me to bleed over the same floors I've learnt to keep clean
I could make a list of all the things you've developed an allergy to,
but I don't need to make a list when the list itself is me
the sound of my laughter leaves you with an itchy rash while the silence of my serenity is enough to make your throat close up, your favourite antihistamine
the scent of cortisol leaking from my pores
I wish I could count all the times tears spilled from my eyes,rolling over my lips and your distaste for me lingered on the tip of my tongue
listening to sad songs about heartbreak while every lyric formed a link to the person who's supposed to love me the most
I wish any of these were finite and that none of it was true
but I learnt true loathing from the same person who was meant to teach me what it means to be loved
