Sometimes, you really are stupid. For all the time you have cried for them. You continue to want them. Where were they when you needed them? They were busy ‘calming down’. Where was I? I was next to you, kissing the scars on your wrist, holding you close, telling you it’s be all right. I promised you. But I’m a liar. It won’t be all right, but I’ll never tell you that, because this darkness you’ve sunk into scares me. I’m worried should you continue down this path, you’ll never see the light at the end.
But yet still, you say you want him. He who hurt you. He who lied to you, not for you, as I have, but to you. I wish I could leave you, let you sort it out on your own, but I would never forgive myself. The longer I sit on this couch, listening to you tell him that he’s still important, telling him that I am only a friend, my inner eye shows a scene.
You stand over me, I am broken and bloody. A hole in my chest. Blood flows freely. Your hands are soaked in the same blood. In your hand you hold a beating heart. My heart. You use it to paint the words you say on the walls. I can only watch and feel the pain.
Life, fate, and time are truly cruel. It has been years since I’ve truly cried, but that night I did. I woke to find a pillowcase damp. I no longer felt anger toward him, I no longer felt the longing for you. Now I am numb. Will I leave? Not if my life depends on it, which it might.
