"The only thing I've got left is my pride."
How can she say that?
When there is so much I lost, how dare she?
I took the blood red suitcase, I took the blame.
I was the one who had to endure the cruel stares and just-loud-enough whispers.
I'm the one who took it all.
I should be renamed Atlas because it was all unloaded onto my shoulders. In the name of the social Gods love of their bloody drama, my single slight was enlarged and then subsequently crucified.
Now I am weighed down by others decisions that will soon be regretted. Their words will be, "It's my fault, I pushed her!" instead of "how could she have hurt her like that?".
Because we've all seen it before. We've seen the pictures, the tears.
We know how fragile the human body is, how easily it can be broken, it's life drained away when others push you to it.
But soon it won't be newspaper clippings and left "loved ones", because I AM HERE,
deciding my fate.
Will my maker meet me as a speeding car?
Speeding cliff?
Speeding bullet?
Swinging noose?
She thought all she had left to lose was her pride.
I'll make sure she loses a lot more than that.
