Before you hang your skeleton to rot, make sure to turn the faucet off.
I was lying face down in the bathtub and you put me there to silence my pain.
Funny. I put you there a lot while you were in pain. Soothed the bites with oils of love and comfort.
But you put me there to concoct a stew of tears and drainage water. Filthy with the germs that you touched me with. I gagged on the dirt, choking as they filled my lungs.
The rushing water covered my head. Pounding my temple against the porcelain.
The more I think, the more I understand why they said, "don't bite the hand that feeds you."
Because when you become that hand, and you're the one gushing blood, you know.
Instead of creating excuses, your eyes shift left and right, trying to find bandages. Wondering why you ever went back. Why you ever provided, when no one ever appreciated it.
So hang yourself in the closet. See what I care. I lay limp in the bathtub, because you left the faucet on.
YOU ARE READING
I Set Myself on Fire Over the Stupidest Things
Short StoryThis is a piece I am working on. A poetic story of deeper emotional levels in life. This story isn't about a particular persons or events, it is currently just a representation of emotional struggles. They may seem out of order currently because it...
