He hit me today.
Mistakes are not experiences; they're failures.
I have failed.
I took a very long bath. Bathed less, cried more.
I made something up to tell Ma.
I contemplated cutting my hair really short; it's hard to face self in the mirror; face the failure.
I think I will get a tattoo to outdo the 'pain', per se.
I think I will get a tattoo to outdo the 'pain', per se.
My friends tell me they'll fuck his happiness;
somehow that makes nothing better. It's all so hollow.
I don't need to be told he's a bastard.
I don't need to be told it's okay and I shouldn't waste any tears on him.
I don't need to offered a new perspective.
Not even for a second. It's almost like I want to be hit again to let it all out.
To do it right this time.
To get back at him.
One last dance with Mary Jane. One more time to kill the pain.
Only, I don't think I will be able to kill it. That't the saddest part.
No. That's not the saddest part.
The saddest part is that it's going to stay forever;
not the swelling, not the pain;
not the swelling, not the pain;
the memory.
Fucking bastard, I swear I would have killed him had I known who he is. I swear.
ReplyDeleteThe saddest part is that it's going to stay forever;
ReplyDeletenot the swelling, not the pain;
the memory.
It's been six months. It still stays, the memory. Sometimes I joke about it now. That doesnt take the memory away.
ReplyDeletememories are to stay. that is why we try to better the new ones we make so that when we look back, there is more to be happy about.
ReplyDeletethe pain of this memory can not be expected to dissolve, but it can be extenuated. and the only one who can make that happen is you. :*
I do okay now, don't you think? :)
ReplyDelete