Go. Leave. Leave now.
Don’t love me.
Don’t hug me as if I’m yours to save.
Don’t tell me you’ll be here when the dust settles down.
Don’t come near me and hold me as if you are the only thing keeping me from falling apart at the seams.
Don’t carry me across tumultuous nights filled with nightmares.
Don’t help me cope with the morning after a night of self-blame.
Don’t tell me you’ll be here in five minutes whenever I ask you to turn up.
Let me immerse my head in a bucket of icy water
and never come out again.
Let me walk alone, let me hurt as I step on broken pieces of glass that I laid out for myself.
Let me dig my nails into bloody wounds to punish myself.
Let me lie on a bed and hate myself with every fibre of my being, for days.
Let me loath myself enough to want to rip out every single part of me.
Let me abhor myself so much that I want to break every mirror I sight myself in
and jump from every ledge I see.
Because when you do leave, as you will, I will not know how to detest myself more.