Do not.

BPD is killing me.
Once again,
[Don’t touch me.]
rage, so violent
[Don’t come close to me.]
hatred, seething through these veins
[Don’t talk to me.]
bitterness, too venomous to ignore
[Don’t be here.]
are running through my pores, sticking to my skin –
[Don’t touch me. Don’t come close. Don’t talk. Don’t be.]
leaving a trail of
fire
[Don’t.]
behind. If only tearing
my body apart,
[Don’t.]
exposing these insides
[Don’t.]
helped for more than mere minutes.
[Don’t.]
Yet these minutes
[Don’t.]
are keeping me alive.
[Leave.]

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About thetasteofwrittenwords

Ema. Twenty-something. Panromantic asexual. University student, artist and writer. Proud feminist. View all posts by thetasteofwrittenwords

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