I can’t, I can’t do it, mother—
You didn’t raise me like this.
You didn’t raise me at all.
I am sick with the thought of
you. I am sick. I am an addict,
I am addicted to heartbreak
and abuse, I don’t know how
to feel without it.
I wake up screaming or
gasping for air, rush to the
bathroom, piss myself.
Spit bloody teeth into the
sink. Sob. Even when the
pain ends it never truly
goes away. It has seeped
into my bones and muscles
and found a home here.
Tiny fragments of glass in
my bloodstream, my brain
swollen, my heart shredded
in the jaws of a jaguar.
Please just let the pain
end. Burn off my nerve endings,
let all my memories be laid
to rest in a lead-lined coffin.
Let me never again
fall in love with people
who leave me.
I would rather never see
the faces of family and friends
and lovers again
than feel this way.
Leave me to rot on the
mattress. Leave me in bed,
leave me tender—with a kiss.
Like Sleeping Beauty.
Just this once, let me be wanted.
Let me rest.
……………
Sarah Loverock is a writer and poet from England. She holds a BA in Creative Writing and is currently studying towards her MA. She enjoys tarot and all things spirtual, cute animals, history and mythology and awesome literature.