I feel rough inside my ribcage
its grating at the bone and I’m full of shards
brittle and sticking like pins.
I feel like my skin is too dirty with who it is
and what fills it in, the hairs stand up on end
when the thoughts come back from my dreams
and I woke up with a weapon in my hand
but who was I fighting. The bright thing
inside me burning away and away
and when I run out of distractions it bubbles at me
like acid, eating my hopes and dragging me down again
to the way things were before.
So that I begin to look deeper into
innocent words and actions. So that the people
I love and care for, become enemies, whispering at me
from behind hands concealing smiles. Plotting.
I have to be honest in that I don’t actually
trust a single person, not half way
I’m terrified of who you might become, another day.
“Just enjoy it for what it is, all good things end.”
I’ve put too much hope into this
for one mortal man
I am frightened and burning
I am frightened
I am burning
I am frightened
I am yearning for safety
I am not quite me, lately
and I’m not sure how to build again.


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