Friday, 1 November 2013
01:21:06 PM (GMT)
It's always difficult to cope with 168 grains putting a period to the end of the
sentence that is your
life. I just hope that the culprit has a disposition being folly-laden. Maybe if she
remembers us in her
past, her pulse will quicken and throw her aim off.
She's like the staccato quickness in a piece of idle adventure. You come and go
daringly and without
much consistency like coins falling onto the street pavement. Sharp twangs of
histrionics hitting the
floor where I reside. Their bell-ish songs sing small and short little lies: "I love
you and you are the one for me."
You sing hollow songs hoping to use the movie set of our life. Playing out your
soliloquy loudly a faux pas surely
meant for me to overhear.
You're the one. You're the thing most reviled. You said to me that day then, "Im
sorry I can no longer be with you."
with the signal of the heart monitor quickening to your betrayal. You walked out
without even saying good bye.
You walked out without even glancing at me one last time. Your shoulders and you head
held high are the last
things i saw before you interred me. Interring me on my deathbed.
Could you not stand to wait until I had died, or possibly recovered? I spent
four months in that hospital alone. The only thing keeping me company the
sound keeping me company being the sound of my heart slowly breaking.
And now you return, saying, I love you and you were always the one?
Fine, I'll take you. You'll realize just how long I've harbored my hatred...
you'll realize that when the last thing you see of me is my back and me
stepping forward. Forward without you.