I’m Not Okay and You Don’t Care

You served time because I told the truth.
Because I stood up when I wanted to disappear.

But now you’re free.
Seven years early.
And I’m still trapped in the cell you built inside my skin.

Since your release, it’s gotten worse.
The blade is louder.
The bottle emptier.
The pain heavier.
And some nights,
I need to bleed
just to breathe.

Cutting is the only time I feel in control.
Alcohol is the only time I feel numb.
They’re not escapes—they’re survival.
The only moments that make the screaming stop.

You’re free.
And I’m fucking dying.

If tonight was my last breath,
I think I’d be okay with that.

Because this hurts.
And I’m not okay.

—The one you didn’t finish
(but destroyed anyway