Into the water.

Taking a bath has become more and more appealing, and more and more terrifying. I want to turn the water up to the hottest my skin can stand, right before the blisters start. I want the heat to rise as my blood pressure drops. I want my vision to sway. I want my consciousness zapped away and float up with the rising steam. I want my unconscious head to slip under the scalding water. I want the breath from my lungs to escape into the water, leaving a trail of bubbles to reach the surface as I sink further and further into the tub. All my breath gone from my lungs so I can never return to consciousness again. Slip into the dark. 

In the Dark.

It’s dark. I’m glad there isn’t enough lights on for you to see my face. I’m glad it’s cold in here, so you can mistake my trembling chin for chattering teeth. I’m glad you can’t feel the tears starting to run down my face. You ask if I’m okay, because I’m hesitant and pull away when you push close. I just kiss you and keep kissing you until I can hardly breathe. You start to ask again and I kiss you harder. Don’t speak. Especially not those words. I can handle the tremble of my chin and the few tears rolling down my cheek, but if you speak those words, the wall will be shattered. If you speak those words, those few tears will turn to sobs. I can not handle that. Please just don’t speak. Be gentle with me. I am not here, not fully, but my body is delicate tonight, my mind even more so. Please, just be gentle with me. Don’t break me more than I already am.