When all the nightingales finish their songs, and the insects quiet the orchestra.

When the dragonflies stop making love to the stars, and my thoughts run their course— causing my brain to go completely still, causing this lump to finally setting into the base of my throat.

It’s when all of these things happen, that I will finally stop loving you.

1. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars, I would sacrifice my body hoping to resurrect into someone spiteful enough to not care about you.

2. Staple me to a cross; pierce my sides with a broken promise until I bleed all the reasons why you deserve one more chance.

3. Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at.

4. You wanna know how I got these scars; see I ripped every piece of you out of my smile.

5. I sprinkled you in stare dust.

6. I spoke you into sunflowers.

7. I dipped my hands in forever, I touched you infinity, I treated you like you were the last molecule of oxygen in a gas chamber I was good to you.

8. You want to know how I got these scars? I swallowed my pride, and then it clawed it’s way back up my throat.

9. I realize you never really cared for me, I was just your arm candy.

10. I hate you.

10a. But I still love you.

I am a victim.

I am a victim of self hate, slut shame, don’t eat that you’ll inflate.

A victim of don’t you want to eat that you’re so small, no because I am tired of feeling small.

I am a victim of self harm, of cat call and heartbreak.

Depression.

Anxiety.

Society.

I am a victim of the social injustice of feeling unjust when all I want to do is just

Love.

Love myself for who I am with my scars, but society makes it so hard.

Hard to understand myself and be myself and wish I was someone else because I have come to learn not to trust myself when I’m all by myself.

I am a victim.

I am a victim of believing society and letting them convince me I am not worth my own weight in platinum letting them convince me that I am not worth, more than the dirt, in which we walk letting them convince me that I am not enough.

I am a victim of society, and out of everything, I think that’s the worst.

You promised things in blood, which is why I believed you. But Innocence didn't mean nieve, and as your chilled lips pressed mine it suddenly did. All the words that pooled on your tongue, flooding your mouth, spilled out through my ears and echoed within my bones--reminding me of who you were to me. The broken melodies in my bones spilled into my muscles and escaped to my skin, consuming who I perceived myself to be.

"Stupid."

"Unimportant."

"Easy."

These words capturing my entire body, making their way into my brain, and eventually holding me hostage in my own body. The days and nights started to blur together, as you pulled me in more and more until you were done with me. Tossing me out like yesterday's paper-- old news.

And although your body is through with mine, your words come alive and remind me who I am.

And if there's one thing you ever forget, make it the way my eyes shone when the rain would pour over our heads soaking our bodies; make it the way my voice sounded before my morning tea when the sun wasn't even up yet but we couldn't sleep we were so in love; if you ever forget one thing, make it be the prose I wrote you at dusk as the stars were waking and the birds didn't chirp.

Because you don't deserve to remember.

So please forget me.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the memories of us that haunt me when I sleep, keeping me up long into the night while others are happily dreaming, or making love.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the words that keep ringing in my ears like cracked church bells on a funeral morning, reminding me why I'm dead in the first place.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the feeling of the Luke-warm shower water eating away at my skin and the razor blade in hand trying to bring myself to do something that I know I shouldn't...but if it takes this pain away...

It's not that I don't love you. It's my teeth breaking with every word I say and tears eroding my cheeks and the kitchen clock saying it's 3:58...the kitchen clock is always wrong.

It's not that I don't love you. It's going to parties half wasted on the thought that you won't be there for me when I get home and throwing up at the taste of loneliness in my mouth before I've had my first sip of a mixed drink.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the feeling of nothingness in my center of gravity so when I try and stand, it knocks me over, making me lay in bed all day. The depression pills are starting to fill the void.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the fact that this is about you and you will never know because I think your new girl unfollowed me off of your account. Forcing this hard lump in my throat to take its place, maybe that's where my gravity went.

It's not that I don't love you. It's the fact that I do, and it kills me every day that I have to be around you but I can't be with you.

It's the last goodbye after a year of hellos. 

It's the sound of your car engine starting over your prayers that this isn't happening. 

It's the sound of your silent shower when you used to blast music. 

It's the silence he left.

It's the first hello after four months of no talk.

It's the pleading to take you back. 

It's the love songs you can no longer listen to. 

It's the 'I miss you.'

It's the 'I still love you.'