exhausting

people treat you so badly when they know you love them. they take advantage of it when it’s 3am and they need someone naive to manipulate and easy enough to pass the time with. they just need an empty body to entertain their fantasies. and you oblige every time, because it’s the only time you can have them and although the attention is fleeting, at least they want you. the aftermath doesn’t matter. when you’re left to tend to the wounds they’ve left on your skin, to pick up the pieces of yourself off the floor and act as if you aren’t shattered. the love you gave so willingly is tossed aside like it’s garbage, like always. he won’t even look you in the eyes unless you’re uttering absolute filth with a gasping breath. he only thinks about you in the middle of the night when the frustration is too much. he doesn’t kiss that space behind your ears anymore. doesn’t kiss you goodbye. pushes your hand away when you touch him like it’s fire to his skin. he stopped caring. stopped calling. stopped asking. it’s easy to do so when it’s you. so you ignore the sickness in your stomach and bottle up the sadness. you tell yourself it’s not repetitive. tell yourself you’re not doing this again. but you cried all the way home and you cried all night. he doesn’t know. the vacant stares into the walls at 3am have become all too familiar, all too comforting. he won’t come to you when all you can think about is being 6 feet under and he is the only person who can bring you comfort because the truth of the matter is, he doesn’t think you’re worth it, you’re not worth the time, not worth the drive, not worth anything. you’ve been here before. you know this feeling all too well. the yearning. the heartache. it doesn’t matter if it makes you feel empty. makes you feel dirty. it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t recognise the emptiness in your eyes, he tells himself she’s just tired and goes ahead and takes what he wants because she’s always tired these days. and everything is always on his terms. there’s no anything. no care. you’re an afterthought. if that. he goes about his day and acts as if you don’t exist. you wish you didn’t. you are always too much. too much. too much. too much. you should be less. less wanting. less affectionate. less caring. that’s why there is always another. someone else who says the perfect thing, does the perfect thing, looks perfect, is perfect. do you recognise yourself in the mirror anymore? when those empty eyes stare back at you? do you smile with your eyes anymore? did you ever feel like you weren’t hard to love? you’ve always felt it. i know you have. you’ve bled and cleaned up the remains from the floor so many times that even the floors pity you - so many years later yet the same feelings tear you apart. and no one understands so you have always been a little too understanding. a little too considerate. because you know, you know it is exhausting being so unlovable. so exhausting to be unwanted. so exhausting to be alive when you’re you. were you ever doing this for yourself? do you know who you’re even doing it for? do you know what being loved even feels like? do you have any idea? do you know what it’s like to be wanted, not just for your body but for all of the scars, the thoughts, the sadness? to be loved unconditionally? to not try to earn someone’s love? to be hurt by people and be able to tell them because you aren’t so deathly afraid of being left? to not feel as if your entire being is a burden? do you think you’ll ever feel it? do you?