Seven.

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Seven.

By

Ross e f Lombardi

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60 seconds in

"I don't really want to talk."

"I'm ok"

"I don't want to talk about it"

"Honestly"

(I am not ok)

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Two moments on

"I'll just cover the basics."

"But not burden you."

"As I don't matter."

"I never did matter...

...I never could matter....

... and matter, I never will."

.

Three and uncorking.

"This!" "THIS!" And "This!"

I'm Spewing Words

"That!" "THAT!" And "that!"

For I am 'This' needy, attention greedy, over-bareing, over-sharing twat.

.

Halfway between heaven and hell now and still falling.

Self-hate speech calling.

Tearless crying.

Dryed eyed yet bawling.

.

Five up.

Ok I'm breathing calmer now.

I feel embarrassed.

But you comfort me with constant "oks," "it's fine"

...and despite myself I feel 'valued'.

I hate myself A bit less now.

Thanks for caring.

So, Sorry for being SO annoying.

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Six slices gone.

Winding down now.

Saying polite good byes.

Me Apologising.

Relaxing.

Saying slow fairwells and stalling.

.

Seven!

Seven minutes of your time.

It was not a cure

It did not magically fix it all.

I am still sad.

But I No longer want to harm myself.

So, thank you for listening.

Thank you for noticing.

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Thank you for calling.

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