I don't want to run anymore, but it hurts me to risk it all.
I'm scared I'll just ruin you, engulf you in every time I turn vacant.
I'm surprised you didn't bolt the second you ran your hand against my acid skin.
Aren't you scared yet?
Don't you see it?
The way I shake with every action I make like I'm unsure what you might take.
Aren't you tired of the cryptic games I play?
Or do you simply not see the way it taunts me to actually feel something for you.
To actually see myself building more than just another heart to shatter, the way not having full control on how this ends terrifies my aching mind.
Or are you just as mortified as I am?
Maybe you don't even give it another glance.
Or perhaps it's not so sadistic inside your head, maybe my eyes don't look so hollow in yours.
Maybe when you think of us you think of my hand in yours and summer nights and nothing about how destructive I am.
But I am and that's the issue, isn't it?
Because whether you see it or not, I'm still the girl who tries to bury herself in unhealthy habits, the girl who doesn't care for herself, who leaves without a goodbye.
And I never truly understand what goes on in my mind, I wish I could, for you or for me or for anyone else who has to care about the things I think.
And I mean it with every bone in my body that I'm trying so hard to work on these things.
Please be patient with me.
