the worst thing to happen to my writing

I'm seeing things that are not there. I'm imagining you again, taking up space in my bed, causing my shallow breathing. I'm seeing you lying on the floor out of the corner of my eye and it can't be true because you left days ago. im seeing car crashes and train wrecks and people falling headlong down the stairs and im seeing this all and none of it is true. I'm going mad and it's raining, for me. I'm lent against the door frame just remembering breathing and your angles in the soft light. you arnt curves at all, but you arnt sharp edges. you are smooth like driftwood washed up on the beach of my thighs, you left bruises across my legs that havnt faded in a week and still the mark from his teeth four years ago sits upon my skin like a puddle. I said it was raining, it started last night and hasn't stopped, it hasnt quit. I admire that. the world is drowning in water and I am drowning in the space between his words when he tells me that I'm beautiful and I almost believe it. I didn't see this one coming and now I'm in so much deeper than I ever thought. I can't really write any more, it's like you've choked me softly whilst kissing my neck, drawn the sound from my vocal chords with your lips. there are fires in my joints, burning with an angry heat every time I stretch towards your skin. I'm scared, im scared of falling in love with a boy who's darkest thoughts I still don't know. I'm seeing things, but I hope I'm not imagining the way he looks at me when I make him laugh.