What is your goal? The pain you've hit me with, the knife you've stabbed me with. At first the stab wound was an accident to me, it healed soon alongside the other stab marks I told you but never showed.
Maybe, if I had shown you the scars, the pain, would you have done it the way you did this time? Faking your own death for my reaction, just so that I could spill my guts to you? List my toxic friends, tell you about my abusive lover? Tell you that you really did shatter me?
I didn't tell you that I was planning to wear my galaxy-patterned dress the next day, the one I wore when we met, did I? That was going to be a silent, painful memorial for you. I was going to tell Kayla about it, tell her and hell I might've even broken down in her arms that day but no, you didn't die.
You lied to me.
The instant you talked to me about you moving, my love for you slowly cancelled out, probably my heart protecting itself from another heartbreak. I was left there, you trying to express your love for me. Our conversations used to bring me joy, but now they turn me sour. Give me the desire to hit something.
How can you love me, if you hurt me so?
I had a thought, that night when you "killed yourself", what if you were okay? What if you came to school after having survived, to see me quiet at our table, broken because of you? I couldn't help but wonder, what would you do?
Then I realized you would blame yourself and honestly? It's hard for me to admit that I would care, because it would be a lie.
I looked at you and I cared once upon a time, now I look at you and cringe, knowing you've hurt me and made me want to fall to my knees and scream and hurt myself.
Knowing you were the reason I had cried once.
And it hurts, but in an odd way, it's satisfying to know that you feel bad. I'm sick in the head, darling. Notice that, and run from me.
For when I get hurt, I hurt back just as worse.
Sincerely, Truly, and Always,
Someone battling themselves over you.
