I want to wash you off my skin, get rid of the sickening feeling of your eyes looking at me, of that dangerous smile you push in my direction. I want to grow stubborn enough to not care, to not notice the tingling sensation humming within my bones whenever we cross paths; as if my body is recognizing a long old friend, or perhaps someone more.
I want to suppress all the emotions you rise out of me, to bury deep down the thoughts revolving around you; speeding trains of pointless imaginations, ruining me for others. I want to be not aware of how your presence fills the room with hush whispers of admiration, of how you sit next to me and play with my hair, of how your touch shoots up an electric current straight through my heart.
I want to breathe you out, wash you away with a good decision and a heartbreak. I want to let you go, to stop holding onto you for warmth, to learn how to build a fire by myself. I want to stop wasting my tears, my 11:11 wishes, because I know they are rather humorous to the point of make belief; non-existent, a facade, like you.
I want to scream and yell and beg you to stay away from me, to keep your distance because you are tearing me at the seams, you are splitting me wide open, like an experiment gone wrong. I want to push you back on the other side of the door, to make you wait out on the rain, on the street, anywhere I do not exist.
I want to leave.
I want to leave.
I want to leave.
But where would I go?
"To me," you would say.
"Back to me," you would whisper.
Dammit.