A message,
A hammer on my hand
The pain like the words themselves with the subtlety of a pencil in my navel, a knife against my neck,
Such a long time,
A false beauty, protracted to infinity
A lifetime, or so I thought,
In an instant,
Darkened by blood on the pictures of smiling faces
This isn’t heartache, that’s internal
This is heartprick,
Heartpuncture,
Heartslice,
I think that’s what it’s supposed to be
But if a pen is so much mightier than a sword,
Why does this feel like nothing anymore?
Am I numb?
I thought I hurt,
I thought these were tarnished memories,
But I can’t cry.
Literally.
Surely I’m supposed to miss you,
Surely I can feel the knife on my neck, right?
I can see it.
Maybe you already hurt me enough
“If you ever loved me”
Maybe I didn’t
Maybe I led you on
Maybe I did, once.
But you ruined that
You froze up
I’m your saviour
My close friend?
The worst
Because you must be right.
You clearly know better
There’s still a knife to my neck,
But it’s not new.
It just got a new name
Saviour
Love of your life
The worst
Toxic
Manipulative
Annoying
Uncaring
Those last five names you called me
Who were you describing?
I’ll add a few, to make it clearer
Narcissist
Cheater
Liar
Your name itself was foreshadowing:
She-demon
Demon indeed
You kept me on a leash
Obediently waiting for the next trigger
Long night hours watching my blood drip from your knife to my hands
Blood
On my hands
Then it’s my fault.
On the knife my blood mingles with yours
I dragged you down with me
The only explanation
Because you can do no wrong.
Or so I thought.
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