the whispers grow intense by the second
sending shivers down my spine
they're talking (am I the topic?)
we laughed at each other's jokes not long ago
two hours later and it's down to
empty stares, cold smiles and unspoken words
what's wrong (you ask)
what's wrong (literally my question)
nothing (everything)
nothing (am I losing my mind?)
the last few pages of my journal
nervously scribbled reminders
breathe
breathe
breathe
am I delusional?
the air I reminded myself to breathe in
is filling my lungs with lies and hatred
the blood in my heart is contaminated
and i decide, before (it) they kill(s) me
I need to cut them out of my heart.
have never been the one to do good with crowds
nevertheless I tried so hard to fit
but I never belonged in your puzzle
so I cut pieces of myself to find a place for me
until I couldn't identify who I was anymore
the bruises from where I cut myself
bled until there was no blood left
and my body is purple
darker than the bruises left behind
and my body is purple
like the poison that replaced my blood
now they're at my funeral
white roses in their hands
but my eyes spot the thorns
thorns I believed I deserved
everyone is in black
black the colour of my coffin
black the colour of their hearts
but I see them in red
the blood that drained out of me
is now smeared all over them
dripping down their fingertips
and I realize
they cut my heart out
before I could cut them out of my heart.