It's the touch,
The searing pain,
Of you.
The pull,
Pinch,
Squeeze,
Of when you lay your
Dirty,
Filthy,
Foreign
Hands on my uninviting, alert body.
The heat,
No, the scorching temperatures that radiate off of you when you're near.
"Give me a sign,"
I pray.
This heat,
This is a relief due to being a clear sign of when you're near,
As much as it is a deeply rooted hatred because it reminds me of the heart you have.
Warm blood in your cold being.
And it reminds me that when laid out side by side,
You by me,
Hip bone to hip bone,
We're the same:
Human.
The same humans that played together throughout our childhood,
The same humans that were supposed to look out for each other,
Except you always took to the extreme of the phrase;
"Keep an eye on her."
-D.
YOU ARE READING
No More Hiding
Non-FictionWhat's the point in hiding the truth? TRIGGER WARNING: -EATING DISORDERS. -DEPRESSION. -SELF-HARM. -SUICIDE. -ANXIETY. -HEARTBREAK. -ASSAULT. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF SENSITIVE OR EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THIS CONTENT, PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE. You have...
