It was tempting once he came around, his dark eyes followed me everywhere and at first, it was only flirtation. The more often he’d come around, the more I felt drawn to him, he was like a flame that burnt out long ago without a trace of smoke.

I became infatuated with the thought of living in the darkness with him. Dancing underneath the moonlight, scaring others for the thrill of it. I was already hurting and he became my outlet to relive pain.

And when I was there, I didn’t understand it. Nothing made me feel better, not the knives against my skin, not the burning alcohol I poured down my throat, and not the pills I took by the hand fulls. He wore a mask, and when it was too late for me to turn back, he took it off.

He holds me down, covers me in darkness and I’ll sleep for hours at a time. When I look into a mirror, there he is, standing behind me telling me how ugly I am. He lingers in my mind, constantly taunting me and feeding me false information, forcing me to recluse into isolation.

He suffocates me with hot air in a panic attack. In my dreams, he gives me nightmares to live. He manipulates me into self destruction and self harm.

He thrives off of negativity and sadness, without it, he can’t win.

And when the sun comes up the next day, I lie there on the floor shaking from the night before covered in tears, alcohol, and blankets waiting to see what he has in store for me today.