as broken as i am,
how much more will you tear me apart?
i have already been torn asunder—there’s nothing left of me to maim.

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as broken as i am,
how much more will you tear me apart?
i have already been torn asunder—there’s nothing left of me to maim.
i hate how my softness leads to anger.
i count to ten, think happy thoughts, breathe steadily, and i still end up in flames—
my anger is my hell.
fate is just a concept of unpredictability,
and i was unable to see what’s ahead of our story—it ended without starting.
"i'm exhausted."
i solely say those words because it’s simply the way i am at some point in time.
the heaviness within me isn’t for anyone else to carry; the whirlwind of a mind i have isn’t for another to think about; each and every sigh i dejectedly heave isn’t a cry for help; and the apparent weariness seen in my eyes is never meant to be stared into.
i never needed any sort of pity because one shall leave that all for myself.
yes. i am tired, but i only ever needed to be held.
—
haunt me,
forever linger upon my presence. i am yet a living soul dreaming of death for your ghost.
you are a monster.
you have teared my walls to shreds,
skinned my past alive,
and ate the truths from my flesh.
i am ruined, and yet, you held me most divine.
just like a dream i never thought would exist in this lifetime, you betided.
you happened.
i like a quiet scene—a hush descending upon me, but never did i like the quiet of my mind.
so, leave me alone, but never with my thoughts.