OBSESSIVE

YOU

my heart cracked open,
a giant irreparable crevasse
down it's core,
that bled out sour
truths.

heartbroken. my heart
had finally given up.

all these years...

harry. kieran.

matthew.

for this?

this being you-
who had stepped further
and further away from me?!

AFTER EVERYTHING I
FUCKING DID FOR YOU,
SKYE. AFTER EVERY FUCKING
THING, YOU WERE DISGUSTED?!

you were swaying to and fro,
the foreground to a dispairing
background of black sky;
your expression wrinkled
by confusion and hot tears.
you were clutching your baby
bump protectively beneath
your white cotton dress.

like i was going to hurt
your child.

was i really
that much of a monster...

the sleeves of your dress were short
exposing the littering of scars.

my eyes burned with a fire
so inextinguishable the tears
couldn't put it out.

matthew was worth something-
mutilization on your body.

kieran was worth something-
something that affected your
mind.

harry was worth something-
that poisoned your soul with the
selfish realisation

everyone wants you;

and me?

i was worth nothing. NOTHING.

"declan." you gasped, your voice
venomously steady, tightening
your hands around your stomach.
"matthew killed himself only-"

"i know." i spat.

"i'm pregnant with his baby.
i'm covered in scars because of him.
my heart is beating for him.
i am still in love with him."

"skye-"

"and you kissed me?!" you
suddenly screamed, your
body shaking violently.
"after he
killed himself!
what?! i bet you love this don't
you, thinking suddenly
you have a chance-

using me?! USING HIM?

USING HIS DEATH SO YOU
CAN SNEAK UP ON ME AND
SNOG ME OUT OF THE BLUE
FOR YOUR OWN SELFISH
DESIRES-

you heartless, heartless selfish-"

"i'm heartless?" i questioned
softly.

you stared at me, shaking
your head, realising
what was about to happen,
not wanting
to hear my shrill truth.
"no, no
declan, i'm sorry, i didn't mean like that-"

"you were bullied when you were
eight. i stuck up for you, even if
that meant i went home with playground
war scars, and got shouted at by
my mum.

you were getting used by a sixteen-
year-old when you were, what? eleven?
twelve? and who was there to rescue you?
me. i told my brother, who sorted him
out, but i still helped you!"

my fists clenched at my sides,
and now i was shouting,
yelling into the night air,

loving the look of vulnerability,
of pain on your face.

i hurt you like you hurt me, skye.

and you hurt a lot.

tears of frustration slid
down the contours of my face,
as i shrieked, "your parents
got divorced! you came to my
house to cry constantly! you even
slept over, despite it annoying
my dad! i helped you for years,
skye. and you're not even thankful?!