Bite

I sat in the shower tonight, another night of crushed expectations. I can’t resort to cutting myself over this. He’ll see them and then we’ll be back at square one. It’s nighttime and it’s getting worse each day. At night it seems to hit the hardest. Little things are triggering the moodswings and I’m beginning to lose control one day at a time. Other days are better, and I tell myself things are getting better, but in moments like these I convince myself I’m living in a lie. Am I really happy? I have happy moments, but can I live and love without you?
If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.
If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be sitting in the shower tonight, biting my tongue and watching drops of blood splatter on the tub floor. The red against white.
Another bite.
I spit. Crimson flows between clenched teeth as I hold back tears.
One more bite and I’ll quit.
It’s a little darker this time; more coagulated.
Last one, I promise.
Fuck I can’t do this. I’m losing this battle within myself.
I take a chunk of skin out of my tongue.
All I’ve ever done is held my tongue out of risk of losing what we had.
And now I’m biting harder than ever in risk of losing myself.