I took a chance, and your suspicions were right.
I am invulnerable.
I am not.

You're here again.
I'm tired of your presence.
Leave me alone,
you soul-sucking monster.

Without you,
I don't know where my path leads.
I don't know what to do with myself.

What does life feel like
without you?

My friend.
My playmate.
My ghost.
My demon.

You know who you are.

I shrink when you're near,
yet you find me every time.

We carry enough rage between us.
Let us throw it to the wind.

I could fill an entire book
with stories of how you ruined my days—
and the strange ways
you made them worth remembering.

I am irritated.
Perplexed.

Stop making excuses, writer.
Our playground drew the parallels
that still follow me home.

Listen.
I have grown wary of them.

You have no right
to occupy every room in my mind.

You even brought company.
Tell them to leave.

You said you wanted me,
so I cut you away.

Your explanations
have become old songs.

You call me your finest painting.
We are both mistaken.

I am not immune to harm.
Not now.
Not ever.

I need space.

So I step back.

And yet—

I am vulnerable.

I miss my greys.
I miss my dark.

what remains when even the darkness starts to leave?