Paperweight

You never loved me; you loved the sickness in me.

most of us needed a little something extra to be okay.

But wouldn’t you rather be real and flawed, then some synthetic perfect girl who never really lived?”

All of me stitched together and straining at the seams.

My body is both weapon and wound, predator and prey. I will self-destruct without any help.

‘The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off’

“I don’t know if I can. I think it might be too late.”

I’m reaching for him, desperate to hear his voice. But he’s gone, and without him, I am spinning and directionless.

I only know this way of being, not quite alive, not quite dead. Not quite.

“There’s nothing else to do.”