🗡

if i handed you a knife and told you to cut me, and you did…..

is that still my fault, or yours?

Advertisements

Probably Not.

The thoughts are everywhere. All day. But at night, they get so much worse. I remember everything, you know… I remember too much, and it burns. I feel my heart in my chest, but it aches at your absence. I know you don’t care, but I miss the presence of you. I miss when things were okay. I miss when you held my heart in your hand, and you cared if you dropped it. I miss the sweetness you could hold for me, it just never lasted long enough. I had a future in my mind, where your hand was in mine; Now I can’t even get a response. I found notes, saw your writing, and my heart cried in silence. I can’t look at lost love. I wish there was a way to coexist without bleeding. I wish there was a way I could hold you right now. But there isn’t, and I burn. I should get some sleep, but my eyes close to images of you. My dreams replay videos of you, but only sweetness now; Only the anxious, opening of one heart to another heart. Do you miss me, at all? No… Probably not.

milk

I miss who I was before I knew you. Not all the alcohol I drank to be numb, but the sweet girl that was just looking to be loved; the girl that would do anything to give love. The beautiful, milky white girl that had a world of colors behind her eyes, her laugh, her words. Now I’m a broken, fragmented piece of myself, only I can’t find all the shards to place perfectly back into their packing order. I flinch at your touch, even at your words. I question everything that floats out of your mouth before it even tickles your vocal chords. When you hold me, I feel vacant in your arms; a spineless creature tucking me into themselves, feeding off of any love left loss inside myself. You fed off of everything I had in me; any confidence or love I had for myself, you threw it on the floor like the many pictures I used to have of us that I had to rid my entire life of just to drown out the hurt a glance at them will make me feel. I miss those pictures sometimes, but I know I am better off kept blind from any ounce of happiness you ever gave me; those moments were too few and too far between, anyways. You were always too busy blaming me for your own crippling damage inside your head and heart, too choked by the dark, dirty water to even come up for air to see what you had caused up on the surface. And any time you let yourself open your dormant eyes, you refused to believe that you were at fault and only sucked more life from me, telling me it had been my fault and that I wasn’t easy to love. How could someone love something so broken? You made sure I felt like no one ever could, so how could I leave when I mean nothing to no soul left on this world you created in front of me? How could I just walk out so easily, when I had already been staggering for miles to try and find your heart again? Did I ever even really see it, or was that all part of the plot as well? I never meant anything to you; don’t go crying over spilt milk when you’re lactose intolerant.