my face,
each rivulet sticky trails
regret lead me back to
why is it always me?

doors are always too heavy for me. i hate this.

the cool air is shock
ing to the sweetness stuck
to my skin.
there’s no time to wash off in the bathroom.
i have to get out of here.

i have to get out of my skin.
i have to get out of me.
i hate this.
why do i do this to myself?
why is it always me?

She’s so beautiful.
she’s right to be upset,
but why at me?
Isn’t it his fault too?
Doesn’t she see me? Why would he want me if he has her?

hey are you okay? everyone was worried about you.

none of us are okay. why would i be okay? it’s fine. it doesn’t matter. don’t worry about it.

She saw you as a threat. Isn’t that a compliment?

It’s not her fault. He made me into a threat. i’m nobody. she wouldn’t have even noticed me if it weren’t for him.

i didn’t know. if i had known—
well. if we start with if’s…
why, … nothing much would change.

I’m so confused. I just wanted to feel wanted.