I don’t do poetry, but the thought is the same.

It seems so far now, but this is just like that monster under your bed or inside the closet, always near, just that this time there was no monsters inside the closet, just me...The monster was outside, searching for any sign of my presence. Screaming. Asking why the dishes weren’t as clean as he wanted them or why the food was cold. Throwing chairs through the air, trying to find me underneath them.

I don’t know what else he could possibly want from me. I’ve given him everything. Even the things he didn’t deserve. There’s not much more of “me” left anyway. I’m just the spectrum of what’s left of me. What he left of me. How could he want that? How could anyone want that? I don’t even want that.

He keeps screaming my name. Why do he has to scream?

Tears start running down my cheeks. I hate crying but I can’t help it. It always happens when someone raises their voice at me. I just want to go home, but I can’t get out of here, he has everything locked, making sure I can’t escape.

I hide my face behind my hands, frustrated. I just want to disappear for a bit. Just for a bit.

He keeps getting closer.

Why I didn’t left while I still could? Why did I kept insisting to stay? Why did I want to save him? No one can save him. He chose to be this way and one have to always remember that.

I can hear his footsteps right outside the closet door.

He slowly turns the door knob and opens the door.

The light blinds me

I’m tired of this.

I’m tired of begging, but maybe this time it’ll work...

So in a tiny and weak whisper, I say:

“Please, just leave my broken soul alone”

The end (luckily)