Just let me write about it.

How can I show you despair?
How can I teach you puckered skin
From hours of laying under the showerhead? 
You don't know the warm, salty sheets that lay across my cheeks on some nights. 
I can't share these covers. 
And you can't seem to give me air no matter how many times you sigh with sympathy. 
I just gag on it. 
Don't force my eyes on yours. 
I've always told myself that I'm allowed to be scared. 
Because when your heart pumps your blood a little faster than normal
At the least you can say your alive, right?
I love you, 
But don't hold me so close. 
My muscles are so tight I feel trapped inside them. 
I try to get out, but I realize I can't when I look down
At my shoulders and my stomach and my thighs and the surface is barely broken. 
Just raw. 

Don't show me pity.
I won't run away this time, I promise. 
Just let me write about it.