i am not real , but you were

72

I forgot how addicting it was.

to need that escape, to feel the bliss of pain in somewhere other than my heart, even if just for a moment.

I forgot how helpless I feel after.

anxiously applying vaseline to make the scars go away faster, so I can join in at the beach with everyone else.

I forgot how good it feels.

to know I always have something to lean on.

that something is suicide, you know.