Idiot

I want to scream 

Scream into my pillow until my throat is raspy

Scream until my lungs give out

Until my head aches and I can't breathe. 

I rub viscously at my skin

Globs of soap seeping through my fingers, 

Painting the floor in white bubbles 

Running off my hair and down my back like tentacles 

Little circles of red appear as slow trickles of blood form from the too sharp press of my razor 

I hold it firmly down as it coasts my leg 

I'm not trying to cut myself or bleed, 

I wanna be fucking clean. 

It's been over a year since his hands and his lips and his body touched mine

Yet I don't feel clean. 

It's impossible to describe the exact senses that come over me; 

I panic, it's like a panic attack 

I grind my teeth together, maybe a tear or two falls 

Yet I continue the scrubbing and shaving 

The thing that has become a monthly routine 

Until I'm too exhausted to do anymore,

When it seems I've rubbed off a layer of skin

And might have a new, clean body 

I finish.

Looking in the mirror - at my tear stained face with sad eyes and dripping wet hair - 

You Fucking Idiot. 

How will clean me? 

He has been inside me

How the fuck will soap on the outside clean that? 

It's been a year 

But sometimes it feels like he's still fucking here. 

You will never be able to clean yourself 

You will never be rid of that

You will never be rid of him 

You Fucking Idiot.