The sea has always calmed me.
Whenever the rioting and raging thoughts become overwhelmingly sickening,
I looked to the crashing pattern of blues, always turning and twisting, to calm me.
I never knew what to expect.
Or what was expected of me.
Then again, I never bothered to ask.
He came for me again.
All neon reds and bruising colors, ready to lash out and attack without warning.
Hiding was never an option, it always made him worse.
There were days where he was calmed to smothering oranges and yellows.
The better days were sunny and warm.
I almost believed he loved me then.
He had no power over me.
I knew this.
He did too — he ignored it.
So why did I let him get under my skin until I could barely breathe around him?
I am trapped within his confines of perfection.
Faked smiles, pained glances when he turned away,
don't let him see you're unhappy.
The sea wasn't afraid of me.
The sea was ready to take me in, broken bones and battered soul — all of it.
He was never ready for me.
He thought it was the opposite until I showed him what I could do.
I became the angry reds and bleeding purple bruises,
I gave him back the colors he'd force upon me.
He was the rage I felt.
He was the pain.
He was everything I wished I could give.
Anger is one thing I'm good at.
He doesn't know anger like I do.
What have you done?
He was seeping swirls of crimson instead of being them.
He had no life left in his eyes, they felt colorless — numb.
I didn't think it would end like this, he never went as far as I just did.
He should've seen me coming.
The sea refuses to take him away.
I have found him laying on the grayish sand, with the still expression of pain on his face an endless amount of times.
As if the sea was reminding me of my mistakes.
I went down to the beach, ready to face him again.
Ready to apologize.
I mentally prepared myself for the worst part; to see his once perfect body molding and rotten from being submerged in navy too long.
I found nothing.
Again the next day.
And again.
Again.
Again.
I needed to stop thinking about him.
But he was stuck wondering between thoughts and memories.
Ready to bring out the worst in me.
Always being the worst of me.
I am the worst version of myself I could possibly be.
I am flawed in the deadliest way possible.
No one can make me as terrible and as recklessly destructive as I already am.
And I've accepted that.
