“You don’t have the guts to pull the…” were the last words that left her mouth before the bullet hit her. I hate being dared. Because you were my lover did not mean you could dare me. Who gave you the audacity? Now I have to find a suitable well hidden burial site that I’ll not feel too guilty about.
Even though you’re still alive. Even though you share the same oxygen I inhale and exhale a little of, even though you still walk on earth, best believe I killed you in my mind the moment you told me you no longer loved me. I wish I had a gun for real.
I finally got the courage to dial your number today. Someone else picked. A girl. I went dumb for a few seconds through out which in my head I talked. And it was you talking back. And you said you missed me and are sorry you can’t return because the angels wouldn’t let you through the gate. The girl on the other end finally got tired of saying hello, I guess, and dropped the call. But I heard you, I heard you speak again. You had a voice.
I wanted so bad to tell you about all that had been happening since you left. The migraines came back. Stronger this time and I was put on morphine injections. Your mum had a stroke. The doctor said she’s stable now. Your friend, Nathan, he finally got a job. We wouldn’t be able to have fun of his jobless self again. And I…well, I attempted suicide. I really wanted to see you again so I injected myself with nitroglycerin and enjoyed the banging headache and killing throbbing pain. I already was seeing bright light when someone, some nurse that I’ve come to hate, injected me with amphetamine.
Sometimes I can’t sleep at night. Sometimes I sleep for four days straight and I see you, and we go back to the start when everything was just fine. The doctors insist my brain is making my body shut down. And I’m having psychosomatic somnolence. Sometimes I hate you for leaving me behind. Sometimes, I don’t want to wake up.
526, yes I counted, are the number of tears that have rolled down your pretty plump cheeks. Your beautiful cheeks. Your eyes look empty from all the crying, but your face still looks just fine. You still look beautiful. Right here, right now, with the crystalline fluid balls washing away your pretty makeup, you still are the most attractive person I know. Your tears mean something to me. I never want to be the reason they fall. But by all means, cry baby. Let’s cry together. We both loved your brother.
I never want to ever have to hold myself back from crying and convince myself I’m okay even though I’ll know I’m lying.
I never want to tell myself I’m fine and hold back sobs and hold myself from thinking about a particular date or time.
Because I saw you today, I saw your eyes. How swollen they were from tears and your mind seemed torn from pain.
Yet you dared laughed! How dare you make jokes when your heart is shattered and all you feel is disdain?
You’ve always hated being told sorry. You abhor letting others see your weakness
And it was so obvious you didn’t want to make your hurt obvious
I really wanted to hold you back and cry with you and tell you to hold nothing back
But I really didn’t want you crying anymore. I wish I could do it all for you. So I’ll have you back.
It was awkward standing there, knowing how much pain we both felt, mine for you, but still having nothing to say
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be you. At least, not today.
I do this to myself and you on purpose
I inject myself with rage and feel hate and hurt and anger and pain
You really are innocent, but I don’t give a damn
I’ve put myself in the perfect position to be hurt by you, yet you insist you want to be nice and caring
I’ve been there. I’m done being cared for and loved.
Because it all only ends in one fate. Heartbreak.
And that’s worse than hate.
So thank me for hating you now even though you did nothing wrong.
It’s all so I would lose your attention.
It’s reverse Munchausen’s
Sometimes I just want to be in love. To feel jealous. To have someone. To hold them close to my chest and feel their pain and they feeling mine and we’d both comfort ourselves with no words as we sit and shed a tear together. Sometimes.
It’s back again.
My old friend.
The one I thought I got rid of for good.
My stomach is for housing butterflies.
And for the few times I eat.
But you always give it a third use.
I hate this feeling you always bring.
All day I lose balance.
All night I lose fluid.
Why can’t you go away?
You, the pain that guides me
The illness that binds me
My scarlet thread
Wrongly directed fluid
Can’t go back
To my vomit.
My crimson cord.
And after all the bullet wounds you’ve inflicted me with, I wonder how you still have the nerve to act like you’re the one injured.
After all the arrows you’ve darted in my left 5th intercostal space, I’m awed you still feign being the one bleeding.
All these years I tended to your non existent injuries when you kept inflicting bruises to my already scarred back
Where do these tears you seem to freely let down come from when since forever, you’ve been the heartbreaker
Today, you claim to be Jewish when deep down you’ve always been Nazi.
And with your face perfectly hidden, I see you for what you truly are. A fraud.