Your dagger to blame.

I'm -

I tried to fight it. I tried -- I tried -- I

I called out to you, didn't I? I emptied my lungs as I shouted your name into the void -- didn't you hear me? Screaming for you? Of course, into a void that ended up nowhere.

A void of my own mind, cruelly trapping me into its own cage.

Useless. It was useless asking for help when I wouldn't accept any. So now, I just stand here. Looking outside the window of the house I've built for myself.

And you look at me. Careful, I can tell you stories that may never escape your mind. 

But still, you listen. Carefully. Attentively. 

I'm - 

I choke on my own words. What do I tell you? To treat me right? To call my name with love? To remember the look in my eyes when I ran to embrace you? 

You stand outside my door. I wait for you to knock. The littlest sigh doesn't leave your mouth. How do I know if you want me to open it? What if you stand to see if I'm desperate enough to beg you on my knees to come inside? To live in my home without rent. To wrap your arm around my waist as I talk to you. To kiss my neck as I rest my body against you. 

How do I know you want me?

The truth is, you don't want me. You want to see me crumble into a thousand pieces before you, each shard begging to be treated right. You tolerate my love like the sharpest poison that exists. You wait for me to crawl to your feet every time you push me away.

You won me back just to throw me back on the ground. To crush my worth beneath your feet. To pick my soul apart.

I tried to fight it. I told myself to not fall for you again. I told myself to doubt all that you stand for.

Stupid me. Worthlessly crawling back, begging for your love. Bleeding out, slowly and cruelly. Torn apart to burn in the cruel sun. How long until I stitch my soul back together? What if it's too late to try?

I'm - 

I'm dying. Your wretched dagger is to blame.