Anxiety builds with each insecurity. It feeds
off fears of loneliness and rejection. I fear that you have found someone better, which leads to loneliness beyond compare.
I stare at my arms, reminding myself with scars, that I'm better than this, but it fails.
I'll trace along the whitened pigment skin, the mountain it created, reminds me
where
I've
been.
It creates doubt that you've left because I couldn't even love myself.
I'm tough around the edges when it comes to trust, I'll give you my soul
if I thought you were the one.
It's a challenge to break me, that's what I've thought you felt;
that you came around to see when I'd think enough is enough.
Have you finally found someone who isn't broken like me?
At first I pretended not to care, caring is for those who believe they can be loved, and you tried and I denied everything you felt.
Now, I'm back to square one, unravelled, disheveled,
and bare.
Pathetic hope is what lingers, the dramatic image of you at my door. Insecurities keep eating
And eating
And eating
at my core.