Do I really need my hole filled, or is the hole that needs to be filled in my soul?
Do I actually crave touch, or just the warmth of a pair of hands on my skin?
Any hands.
I'm cold.
I want to be held, but please, let me hold you instead. Let me soothe you while you shed my tears for me.
Let me be strong for you, and let me turn away when I realize, that I do have needs.
Let me ignore the aching feeling you leave in the pit of my stomach, throbbing with a scorching flame
So hot, that I cannot extinguish it by my own two hands.
Let me suffer in silence, and do not listen to my cries when you catch me alone.
The water is burning my body, but even when my skin begins to cook, I sit, and let the tears melt my face off.
I try to soothe the pain, trembling hands reaching between my legs in search of my heart, but I can't find it. And I need you.
I don't know who you are. I don't care about your name, nor your childhood. I don't want to know the shape of your ear, nor the way you tie your shoes.
But I need you. I need your hands gliding over the curves of my burden, I need your fingers digging into the flesh of my agony, and abuse me until you find my heart.
And only then will I realise, that I was my own abuser all along.
And the hole remains empty.