It’s a Wednesday morning...

It's a Wednesday morning.

I stop and turn, my gaze meeting his. I feel... like an alien,

I inhale slowly as I’m frozen. I had forgotten about everything,

But He’s here, he’s standing across the room.

His apron is on and his hair is tired up. I feel scared again,

that unsettling scared feel that swarms the empty pit that is my stomach,

it bubbles up like toxin and grows up to my throat,

my friends shakes me away, awake, knowingly.

I feel scared. My breath is short and shallow,

my body shudders uncomfortably, my wrist are bleeding ghost again,

theyre all seeming out and I look ahead, words echoing and appearing in front of me.
‘No’ i say, I own my own self, I am my own self. No body else can control me.

I am my own person. No, he’s got me under his control. 

My lips are parted, there red and bruised from me ripping them apart,

my skin is fair and my veins are such a blue under my translucent skin.

He’s stealing glances, if I turn I may let out an ugly sob, I don’t feel good...

I feel sick. I just might...

No. Your clean, don’t do it. Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it don’t.... don’t do it,

you made a pact to glue yourself back together for that small life,

waiting for your cheering voice once you get home,

squealing and squirming while she waits,

when I get home I just might give her a light squeeze of reassurance,

I may just inhale the baby scent she still owns,

I take a step back  and realise how precious and pure everyone once was. 
I try to remember he was once, a pure and innocent soul, right? 
im trying to find the begivness, but I can't.

He’s in the corner and he’s burning a hole into me, I yearn to scream. 

Then, an unsettling emotions flits across his face

He’s got me on a hook and he’s dragging my body around. Breathe, You can do it...

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale,exhale

I try but fail miserly, he’s seen me.... in every way, you see,

he’s seen my body and he’s used my rights wrongly. 

He gleams at me, a salacious smile plasters form his mouth to his eyes. It was torture.

This whole fucking thing was and is torture. Run home and write, write until your thumbs bleed. 

He was so intent on crowding me, making me self aware of him,

he was crowding me and my heart was thumping like a hammer against a clock

, my chest aches. I think of the times I spent in the library,

the conversations I had. The times I laughed, read, tried not to bawl.
Why was he doing this.... he had hurt me in every way,

any way possible he had hurt me. I don’t want him to hurt me again,

he ruined my once, safe space.

I can no longer find a fantasy to escape too in my books,

Eva she everything I read or write transforms into my nightmare.

It’s a Wednesday morning.