Broken bit.

There is a broken piece that rattles around inside of me. Sometimes I feel it and sometimes I don’t notice it at all. I hide it and keep it lodged deep because it’s not something anyone needs to see.

Sometimes it works it’s way into my brain. The blood trickles down. Silently leaving stains. Inside my brain it whispers that I’m wrong. That I deserved the fuck ups all along. It whispers and I scream. Quietly in my head, of course, and it rips me across detrimental seams. I’m no tailor and don’t know where to begin to stitch. 

I miss him, I miss you, I miss them. Tiny broken piece of mirror scrapes it’s way along my veins. From heart to head, depending on where best the damage should be bled. 

I’m trying I’m  trying I’m trying 

I can’t dig into my own flesh and rip it out. I don’t have the stomach. I don’t know how. I want out. I want out I want out. 

I hate you I hate you I hate you.


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