Philophobia-Because Of You

I've enabled others in my being to interpret me. I put more significance on what they speculated about me and what I was worthy of obtaining than on what I thought about myself, not that it was of consequence. P H I L O P H O B I A I stride into the shower, the liquid running on its loftiest setting. As the scorching liquid hits my skin that's when I can finally inhale and exhale. I lower myself onto the shower bottom and nestle myself in my limbs. Simmering water scorches leaving burning trails along my skin, romping like pointed blades along my back. I let out a pained gripe. Not from the heat inevitably but from the traumas within my heart. The blistering liquid terrors my carcass, I beg for it to sting. To make me feel like humming but not even the flaming liquid can entice me because it's not my carcass that's apathetic. It's my sanity. I stride out of the shower and scour the reflector clean. I gaze at my now beet-ruddy carcass and I smile. A smile that can show you how dignified a person is of themselves. Grand of utterly not only annihilating themselves but also their sanity. P H I L O P H O B I A The first time it transpired they told me to linger and be strong, and I cried a pool of tears. The second time it transpired, they again told me to stay strong. But I couldn't, I couldn't stay strong. Not because I didn't want to but because I was tired. Tired of always being the one getting hurt in the end, tired of loving and not receiving it back, tired of always being the one to understand, tired of people controlling my life and telling me what to do, tired of always being sad, tired of being heartbroken, tired of the world. 2 am, no moan, no crack but a heavy heart, overthinking, and a lot of terror. This is how I live my life. And though every reasonable thing comes to a verge I still latch onto things as if they never will and for that, I fear my contentment always. The macrocosm coats me in bittersweet culmination and I scourge underneath my whiff for making me so vulnerable to adoring everything. My essence is made of recollections and sentiments from years ago and even if I say I've moved on, I am fibbing from my teeth. I am only made by other people, not myself. It was until then that I couldn't use slumber as an escape anymore because I kept wakening to ameliorate that same day. In another life, far from this wretched one, we are plopping in each other's arms, grinning and giggling. Replenishing the rooms with the noises of our laughter. But in this life, we are worlds apart, and the heart fails, the heartaches feel the rooms with the sound of my sobs. I then realized that it wasn't me that was tired, it was my soul. Maybe if I just closed my eyes and never woke up again. Would I still be tired? P H I L O P H O B I A It took me a man and a few others to comprehend that my probabilities don't exist on any planet. My probabilities were of embodiment and not tenderness. They only prevailed in stories, not in the real world.