They’re back, knocking at your door.
Even if you hadn’t looked through the peek hole you would know it’s them.
You feel their presents.
A taunting. A calling.
They want to join the party, but don’t they realise it’s just you here on your own, with your own thoughts.
You think it’s safe to let them in. Just for a short while.
Toy with their feelings. Listen to what they have to say.
You forget the poison they speak.
They just bring the doubts, the questioning, the deprecating.
Determined, you saying they’d just stay for a moment. But they’re still here,
Sitting in the room. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell them you’ve changed, you’re not the same person anymore they don’t believe you.
Go on they beg. Just a little.
The tiniest crimson beads. Garnets in the light.
You’re almost ashamed, of your pathetic attempt to placate them.
You’re trying to make excuses, find the words of why they’re there.
They’re not idiots. They’ll know it wasn’t any accident. And they’re right.
You’ve been collecting what you need to feel. No harm. No end. Just feel.
But you feel ashamed. Embarrassed.
You know it’s not normal but you’ve lost your way.
Putting a hurt from the inside to the out.
You can’t even explain how the hurt started. It’s just there building up. And you need a release.