I just wanted you to want me, i wanted you to look at me the same way you looked at your passions. The same way that your eyes sparkled and you smiled when you spoke about your future. I just wanted you to care. To ask me why I was feeling so sad that day. I wanted you to genuinely ask me if I needed your help during those 3 am suicidal thoughts. You never asked if I was depressed, or if I was relapsing with my self harm.
I spent nights crying asking myself what I was doing wrong, or how I can tell you that I was making myself a canvas with razor blades. I never knew if you’ve ever felt that pain, to be so emotionally drained that your light becomes a blade. To question your own self worth for the longing of someone’s love.
I cut myself open so you could see my beauty inside but you were too picky. You found faults in every single inch of my entity. I was too sensitive as if this was such a flaw in my veins. I felt everything from the slightest change of tone and disinterest. I felt the rocks in my chest when I saw that you opened the message but didn’t bother to reply. Like I was a painting in the wall and I was screaming in agony but you kept on with your life.