First Love; First Heartbreak

That night, I turned the shower as hot as it would go, hoping maybe I could burn away the feeling of her teeth against my skin. I wanted to see if I could burn away her warm breath, like the summer breeze that swept through me, and her fingertips, ever so lightly, leaving trails a fire. I thought maybe I could scrub away the filth and hurt and I would be good enough for her. I thought if I starved myself, I'd be thin enough and she would love me again. I thought I could destroy myself beyond recognition and she would think I was beautiful again.

I wore a long sleeves to school the next day because I had stayed up all night scratching my arms until they bled, trying to get the feeling of her lips on my broken open wrists to leave. I wanted to douse myself in gasoline to get the scent of her perfume out of my nose. I cried over that stupid sweater she wore on our first date, the one that I still have crammed in my drawer. I threw my fist through my wall trying to make the hand she held so tightly go numb so that I didn't have to feel her thumb drawing invisible shapes on my skin.

I slept on the floor because the messy sheets were a reminder of every inferno she ignited in me, and of the flames that licked my empty bones, making me feel invincible.

I made the mistake of ripping myself open and letting her get comfortable in my skin. I let her make a home in my rib cage and carve her name into my bones. I thought maybe I could bury myself in someone who was just as broken and maybe we could fit together to make something beautiful. Instead, all we made was a bigger mess than what we started with.