I don’t like it when you ask me questions I don’t want to answer.
I don’t want you to roll your eyes if i’m bringing love.
I’m looking at you.
I like you.
I like you a lot.
I don’t know how to express myself normally past this point.
I will walk away for lack of a better move.
I am lazy.
I won’t fight for you.
I won’t give up on you, not in my heart.
I will hope for the best.
I wish you all the best.
I don’t want to see your fucking photos.
I really couldn’t care where you’ve been.
I like the look of you.
I love your mind.
I enjoy sharing my opinions
I want to say things that make you smile.
I like that you can surprise me.
I crave your attention.

My ears are ringing.
I shared the love tonight, and got the bare minimum in return.
Wanting something more? Home alone.
What is there? What can you say?
It’s the weekend. Breakfast, family.
Night time surrenders to day, and the ugly scars of your past are exposed unless you’ve risen early and wrapped yourself in bandages. But those bindings hide you, and they are either restrictive, cutting off your circulation or are made from toilet roll. Shreds fall from your body, the exposed flesh goose-like. Pockered and torn. Ugly. You’re attempt to hide yourself has failed, you are naked in the worst possible way, mindset-frantic. Scratches appear on the surface, and grow deeper with their unveiling. Biting down on your own teeth, clenching until your gums ache and bleed. The taste of metal, melts thickly down the back of your throat and you stare. Transfixed.

You’ve let yourself down.
Alone.
What could have been.
You make me sick

Drinking the water from the hot water bottle.
You are alone, exposed and strung out.
The gallows await you, you handsome lonely young man.
The love you have shown will not be repaid you.
Die.