To be a witness.

[Trigger/content warning]

I remember wanting to be discovered by you
and how messed up is that?
Wanting you and your friends to burst through
the bathroom door with panicked voices,
flashlights beaming, calling my name,
desperate for a response....
one that you wouldn't find.

I wanted somebody to notice, to care,
to gasp at the sight, to have nightmares
of the horror scene, flashbacks of crimson
and hopelessness and dead dreams.

I remember what happened instead.

I took the pills and walked home in the rain,
halfway delirious.
The days after I would chastise myself for
never being able to commit,
never devoted enough,
never more than a pathetic attempt.
How sick and twisted to have wanted
you as my witness.

But I wanted someone to know it was real,
what I lived through.

It's clear something was wrong
at the thought of how far I'd go
to ever be taken seriously.