writing: Stained Glass Eyes and Colorful Tears

original posted on my AO3: link

sometimes I sit and dream of things from the past. late nights spent trying to recall the feelings and thoughts that flew through my head at hurricane speed, spent mulling over memories, wondering what's real and what's not and why can't I remember that, didn't I just know that yesterday, why is that so vivid, what was her name, what year was that, who was that really, why? hours spent mulling over a face, a face with a name, but that name feels more foreign than needles in skin, than a stranger's gaze, name and face disconnected floating spinning swirling twisting (who was she really?) morphing into something strange and unrecognizable and incomprehensible, a strange feeling or lack thereof at mention, ruined nails, smudged makeup, bouncing leg tap tap tapping fingers darting eyes please don't say my name, I cant bear to hear the syllables and sounds come out of your mouth and off your twisting venomous tongue (such ugly words from such a pretty face, darling, we really were a mess weren't we?). hands holding mine, soft skin, pretty green blue eyes filled with ?love?, lips forming my name, kissing my lips and skin (too hot too hot it burns please stop I cant take the weight of your love, it suffocates me, please let me go), she loves me / loves me not / I don't love you like I did yesterday darling, but yesterday was years ago, so why are you still haunting my head with every breath I take? why is it you took and took and took and took until I had nothing left to give, why was I your feeding source, the lowly human to your vampiristic tendencies? people often compare cannibalism to love, but you were just hungry, and I was just there, sacrificial lamb for your slaughter, pretty eyes and words and little I love yous and dedication you knew would last, would take me over completely until I was a husk of what once was. part of me still loves you (or is that hate, I never was one to be good with feelings, you knew that better than I did though.), as much as it feels like a burning hot knife being traced over my skin, there is still beauty in those designs, is there not? sometimes the games we play turn out to be pointless in the end, but maybe you got what you wanted and it really was just me left to pick of the shards you left behind, the feelings you buried deep in me like parasites that drained me dry dry dry so dry why can't I feel anymore? what did you do to me, why did you hurt me, why me my love? I was such a perfect dog for you, your loyal stray, the prettiest little lamb on the farm, always waiting for you (never stopped, he's still there in that apartment waiting for his phone to buzz, just like always, just like you loved), why couldn't you see I just wanted this to work, wanted you to be happy? hands touching, fingertips leaving trails of fire over skin (everyone always said it was a wonderful feeling, but to me it just burned.), teeth on my neck, I would have let you tear out my throat if it meant you would keep looking at me like you did and holding me so gently (thorns lacing your arms, razorblades behind your teeth and buried into your voice box, skin like shards of glass, eyes like watchful cameras tracking every move please stop looking at me I cant bear to be under your gaze any longer, please let me go)