I lay in bed and told myself I was the problem.
I was wierd.
I was asking for it.
I was annoying her.
I was in her way.
It wasn't her fault, I would have done the same.

Then one day I was asked.
Why does she make you feel like way.
And I realised the problem was not from within,
it was not just waiting to escape.

It was external.
It was real.
It was blonde, and small and pretty.
It was my 'best friend'.

It threw words at me like bricks in the playground,
breaking down my sheild whilst my immunity was low.
It told me it loved me, messed with my head like another house point she could collect by 'playing nice'.
And it got the point.
It got the prize.
It got my attention, it didn't stop until I cried.

But that wasn't enough,
the cat didn't just want the cream.
It wanted reassurance - that I wouldn't scream.

So it held my hand, and stroked my hair.
It made playdates and said the other kids were unfair.
It said they were cruel, it said they were tough, it wouldn't stop until it had got enough.

It crept into my life, over and over again,
releasing it's venom at every stage in the game.

That was until it was bullied itself. Over and over she went through my hell.
That made her realise that the devil within had commited quite the sin.

So she said she was sorry
She wanted my word
But she was too late,I had been too hurt.