My skin died a few weeks ago.
I tried reviving. Cuts and burns don't touch me.
More proof that I'm no longer real.
Fading into my own mind. Escape. Comfort.
She doesn't know she's killing me.
Words I've repeated over and over till my throat is sore.
I think she knows I don't exist.
White shadow. Brilliant. Blinding.
I'm over dramatic and paranoid. Destructive. Constructive.
What I want is sleep. Deep and dreamless.
Under a puddle. Shallow sinking.
My head has been held up by the ends.
Rip apart into myself. My real self.
Who she is...well she isn't yet.
I'm creating her by destroying the unreal person.
She who squeezes into my skin each morning.
Leaving me awake and shivering when I try to sleep.