It's been a year now. I find myself angry still, and wondering if that's okay. I want to let it go, but you'd sown worms into my body.

It's like you're still here. I fear your judgement, your fragility, and how it could be my fault.

Three years of silence, until it suited you. All you wanted was for me to talk you down. Three years of revulsion, until you craved me. All you wanted was for me to perform for you. Was it trauma? I can't tell.

Is this rape? I said yes to you. I climbed on top of you. I'm the one holding you down. I want to please you, even if you won't touch me. My body aches, and my heart races with the desperation on my effort to make you feel something. Hoping it would be enough, make you want to please me too. I dont like this, but you said being on top hurt you too much. You'd rather not have sex. I barely wanted it, and you knew that...

But you ask me why we don't have sex, wonder what it is you're doing wrong, and how I make you feel like you arent enough.

So I climb back on top.

Tomorrow, you will pull away from my kiss and tell me that I suffocate you, you feel so trapped.

When I break up with you, you will ask me why I'm throwing something beautiful away, and ask me for the three pictures I have of us together. You didn't want to take them, so they had stayed on my phone. When I delete them, there's nothing left.

It's been a year now. And I love him now. I had for a while, and he has lined my walls with Flowers and Down until I feel safe enough to come out. But your worms eat through me in the dark and quiet. You aren't here, but that's not what my body tells me. When he kisses me, your tongue fills my mouth and I choke. When he touches me, your face swims through the darkness, glaring and distant, and I squirm. I'm full of holes where you burrowed into me to plant all your needs. A living haunting.