I see you for the first time in years,

outside the corner shop,

you’re still trying to look cool.

You see me back;

there is a tightening of muscles in your throat,

like you’re trying to swallow your own tongue.

Along with it would go all the spite you spit into the world.

I wish it would swim like a long, dark eel,

down into your stomach,

and then dissolve…

…except one piece.

One slither for you to regurgitate,

and get stuck.

One piece big enough to choke you,

to death.

If you hadn’t bullied me,

I wouldn’t be this crazy.

If you hadn’t dissected me with insults;

broken my skin with violence,

I would have thought that I deserve better,

than a razorblade to split open my arms.

I wouldn’t have pressed down as hard,

pulled back as far.

If I hadn’t gone to school,

and have you shout at me day, after day;

I wouldn’t have swallowed those pills,

vomited my guts up,

over and over.

If you hadn’t kept me trapped,

in a cage of isolation,

someone might have heard my screams.

I might not be dead.