(TW) a permanent home for the poem cuz I'm actually pretty proud of it

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.