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I'm done with thinking about the words you stabbed me in the back with. I'm done searching through past instances to formulate a last dying pity speech. To this day, I haven't the faintest idea why you chose me to slash scars on; the kind of scars not easily noticeable, because they're on the inside. You outlined scenarios in my head that give no promises of occurring, and yet, they are what haunt me at my latest hours of consciousness.
Paranoia coats my every thought. A shield is ready to guard my heart from getting thrown out of its case every time you enter the room. I have a default setting in your presence: desensitize. Defend and don't feel. Pretend you're not real. All I have to do is get through today. Get through your harsh words to me and my own. Your own. Whether I like it or not, we're connected. Though I've cut many strings that relate us, there are those irreversible DNA strands that link us.
There are no words that come remotely close to portraying in the slightest the deep contempt I hold in my gut for you. It wrenches out, spreading through my body like an alert system every time you come near me. I used to forgive but never forget. I haven't forgiven you lately, but I have forgotten. In reality, I'm not sure which way is worse.
I still hold the ever-vivid memory of the words "piece of shit" slapping me across the face and punching me in my gut harder than I know any fist could. Pain came from my left eye while anger came from my right, and my throat closed up too tight for me to make any attempt at a sound. Lived another four years and the sun hasn't shined any brighter since that day. Forgiveness has been given, alongside denial and fiction, triggering more friction between us. Mercy has been handed every which way until my hands got tired of holding it. Now it sits in a corner of my heart, ready to pounce at any sign of kindness. I want to turn a blind eye and see clear your fine attributes. But as I have aged so has my sight, and not even contacts can correct my sunken view of your nature. Your love has an unnatural sweetness to it, and I can't help my throat squeezing shut again as I call to every vocal cord in my system to mutter back "I love you."
Paranoia coats my every thought. A shield is ready to guard my heart from getting thrown out of its case every time you enter the room. I have a default setting in your presence: desensitize. Defend and don't feel. Pretend you're not real. All I have to do is get through today. Get through your harsh words to me and my own. Your own. Whether I like it or not, we're connected. Though I've cut many strings that relate us, there are those irreversible DNA strands that link us.
There are no words that come remotely close to portraying in the slightest the deep contempt I hold in my gut for you. It wrenches out, spreading through my body like an alert system every time you come near me. I used to forgive but never forget. I haven't forgiven you lately, but I have forgotten. In reality, I'm not sure which way is worse.
I still hold the ever-vivid memory of the words "piece of shit" slapping me across the face and punching me in my gut harder than I know any fist could. Pain came from my left eye while anger came from my right, and my throat closed up too tight for me to make any attempt at a sound. Lived another four years and the sun hasn't shined any brighter since that day. Forgiveness has been given, alongside denial and fiction, triggering more friction between us. Mercy has been handed every which way until my hands got tired of holding it. Now it sits in a corner of my heart, ready to pounce at any sign of kindness. I want to turn a blind eye and see clear your fine attributes. But as I have aged so has my sight, and not even contacts can correct my sunken view of your nature. Your love has an unnatural sweetness to it, and I can't help my throat squeezing shut again as I call to every vocal cord in my system to mutter back "I love you."
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July 30, 2014
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