GLOOMY SUNDAY
(170723, Sunday)
Blood.
There's blood on my hands. The broken shards of the mirror are stuck in my skin. With a breathy laugh, I opened the mini-refrigerator's door-ignoring the pain and the pieces of the mirror piercing in my skin deeper as I exert force. I took out a bottle of gin and closed the goddamn door of the fridge with a kick, causing it to fall. I stared at the mess I created two hours ago.
"Such a picturesque masterpiece." I said with a sly smile as I open the bottle. Gulping down the alcoholic substance makes my throat burn but I ignored it. I'm too disoriented to feel any manner of emotion at this point, anyway.
I sat on the floor. The bottle of gin clasped tightly on my right hand and a bouquet of white roses on my left, eyes glued at the door. It is raining cats and dogs outside-such a gloomy and rainy Sunday, come to think of it. I'm expecting you to barge in for two hours already, but you didn't come.
I'm waiting for you to arrive even though I know you'd rather stay at home and drink cocoa in this rainy season. When will you clean the mess I made? I remember you used to scold me for doing such unproductive act. The lectures are annoying on my part and I miss them-but the truth is, I just miss you more. After the said lecture, you'd sweep all the broken shards of mirror and throw them at my garbage bin. I remember the countless times I offered to lend a helping hand but you always brush it off because you're worried about me. I always need stitches every time I'm creating a mess and you'd do them for me. I can't even make a proper eye contact because you're a set of cherubic cheeks, crescent eye smile with alluring lips.
Speaking of the devil, your lips are a sin. I muster up enough courage to stare at them once. I could imagine how soft your lips would feel against mine. You're beneath me, hair disheveled and lips swollen from too much French kissing. Every time I lick the vulnerable zone between your legs, I can hear your raspy voice, moaning my name like a broken record. Screams fill the room where I pleasure you because my knives create a beautiful mess on your white, smooth skin. With a single eye contact, I'm having such thoughts of you. Kind of amazing, right? All I can think is you-and you alone.
You're too kind-and that's another sin. I want to stain you. I want to destroy you. I want you to insanely think about me...but I can't because you're too good for me. You're the cruel thought inside my mind that's driving me bonkers.
It's kind of peculiar on how you managed to be a part of my fucked up life. I never fathom out why you'd waste your time on a creep like me. You know the darkest part of me, yet you stayed. You took the risk without thinking it through-and that's what I like about you.
I know that you have someone special in your life. In fact, you're always talking about that person. I'm not one of those ignorant jerks who keep their hopes up. I'm filled with you and it's driving me insane. I want to kill that "someone special" who keeps on interfering between us. Your body and soul only belongs to me. You're mine!
I keep on making a lame excuse-for instance, messing up my room and injuring my hand two hours ago-just to see you. This is probably the last mess because I'm going to confess my feelings for you. You better accept my confession because I'm not good at dealing with rejections. Do you remember when you accepted that person's confession and began dating? Damn, I feel betrayed that time. My eyes are bloodshot red caused by excessive crying. Sadness is an understatement, I was depressed. If you haven't barged in that day-I admit, barging in seems to be your specialty-I'd probably be dead because I was slicing my wrists.
