Anger

What I want will never be.

I want to stab you in the heart, and corrupt every vein throughout your body. I want to squeeze out every last breath out of your lungs and leave you there to panic the same way I did. I want every corner of your mind fixated on the dismemberment of your own life. Everything that has ever happened, or is happening, or will happen stuck in your thoughts from the second you wake up to the last moment of the day. I want you gone.

Decaying thoughts

A puzzled mess broken down on the first night, followed by the shattered glass beneath my bare toes. I keep replaying the points in time where those tiny, shameful thoughts developed. These frustrations terribly difficult to express directly without a hint of fear. These fearful questions emptying out my mind, forcing my everything to slowly deteriorate back into the shadows.

You no longer exist

You know me well enough to find the combination of letters to shatter me. You know the precise few seconds it takes before my heart pauses with emptiness. You laugh at the broken soul in front of you as you lose yourself in your own mischief. You can’t help but feel good about the wounds you inflict upon me, covering up the reasons behind them as revenge. You know deep down that you’ve gone beyond your own lies because this is no longer interpreted as revenge. No, this is the petty nature you’ve moulded into, or maybe it’s just who you’ve always been. For the longest time, I blamed myself, I thought that every infliction was understandable.

This pain you once took part in developed into my own growth. I grew up deteriorating every fibre of who I am supposed to be. I know this sounds like I am trying to lift this regret, this guilt of destroying my grades, my motivation, even my will to live. I know it sounds like I am trying to blame you for every shit corner of my life but I’m not that petty. I  know I have done wrong, I know I have caused pain upon myself and others. Yes, to some degree, it can trace down to your actions. But you no longer exist, you no longer have power over this grand scale of life. This is me moving through the acknowledgements of myself, allowing myself to get back on the right pathway of growth. You won’t ever read this because I will never let you discover the person I am becoming.

The clingy past

You are the gateway between the past and what is important, the realm between excruciating pain and happiness. You are the unforgettable scar stretched across every inch of my body that’s never going to let the past go. You are the old brick holding open the deteriorating door of a shed full of rusty tools I have no use for.

Do not get me wrong, you are an angel in the flesh. You are the yellow overhanging lamp in the quiet street at night, the white dove in a murder of crows. But I can’t help but see the cracks slowly appearing through as every conversation crosses through. I can’t help but feel broken with parts of me still breaking off. I thought I could handle this, I thought I could move on from every dent of my past, but you’re still there with your finger unintentionally pressing down on my bruises.

An Unnecessary Friend

Tell me what you came here for, was it the guilt? Did you feel that coming back and recreating a friendship was going to demolish what we’ve been through? If I’m being honest, I learnt a great deal from you. Because of you, I became doubtful of everything around me. I struggled to gain trust with people who deserved more trust than you ever got.

I hate the deformed monstrosity I evolved into through every stressful minute I had with you. It’s not a case of looking into the mirror and hating who I’ve become, It’s a lot worse than that. Every sense of me was attacked, from the nostalgic songs running through my ears reminding me of what I thought was a stepping stone to a long lasting happiness, to the bed I barely sleep in because of all the nights I stayed up rambling with you on the life we have and could have. Every good memory I have of you has been marked as fraud. They’ve all become examples of lies, of happy moments turning into painful scars.

I like the idea of keeping optimism in the thought that every painful experience adds up to something. That every failing moment in our life is really just a stepping stone towards a healthier future. That it was all meaningful in some bizarre way. But I cannot keep that optimism with you. Of all the stories I’ve muttered through my teeth, of all the secrets I’ve shared to the few, our stories were beyond terrible. The more I discuss you, the more I remember, the more anger I feel inside me. I could honestly say that I would have been better off without you.