There’s too much death in the living room…

The number of suicidal thoughts I’ve had on that couch matches the number of tear drops that have stained the glass on the coffee table that you swear really brings the room to its full potential…

I was standing in that doorway when you told me that you thought I was too much of failure to ever reach my full potential. I believed you, for at the time I couldn’t even spell “Potential” off the top of my head and that was enough for me to die… potentially.

This couch… is big enough for both me and the demons I tote.

When you lecture me here… I wonder if you ever see them.

You know the more you talk the more they want to respond.

I respect you too much to let them speak, so instead I let them take jabs at me mentally…

But you’re still taking jabs at me emotionally…

Even though I am hurting myself trying not to hurt you verbally.

I wonder if you know the more we talk, the more I start to hate you physically.

And eventually we’re going to get to the point where all of the emotions in this room will be replaced with silence. And Death…

Permanently.

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