Tuesday, June 2, 2015

beautiful ghost.

That was my life, my fucking life. I picked it from all the other lives laid out before me and I fell in love with it, with her. I sacrificed everything and gave it all to her.
You stole her from me.
You took the love of my life away and you let me watch as you slashed her throat. You dropped her carcass, still twitching, in my broken hearted arms and blood soaked us both, soaked everything we built together. And I wept. I wept, hunched over her corpse, holding her so tightly to my heart that I hoped she could still feel it beating through her lifeless skin. I held her for a long time, too long some say. I carried her with me to dinner parties and to the grocery store, buckled her up and drove her back and forth across half the country again and again and every night I let her hollow eyes watch while you tired to kill me too.
I forced her to watch as you beat me to a pulp before taking a step back to examine your handiwork. I fell down some stairs. Right? No, you never left a bruise on me, some broken blood vessels around my eyes and some raw spots on the backs of my hands where my teeth scraped the skin off, but nothing anyone would ever question.
She took it all in. She watched the destruction but what could she do? The dead don’t come back to save their lovers’ lives.
I didn’t care anymore. I lost hope when you stole her away from my loving embrace. Her limp body became another burden, a burden like you, but I couldn’t bring myself to lay her to rest, or change her out of her blood stained clothes. I wanted to preserve her just the way she was on the last night of her short but brilliant life. I wanted the good times to live on in me, for her memory to make me smile, but I only saw her murder every time I closed my eyes. I only saw you taking her life.
And without her, I was no one except someone who couldn’t get away from you, a victim of abuse crawling back to you again for one more beating. And you beat me mercilessly, again and again. As the days passed I began to wish you would just end me so I could finally find some peace in the cool blackness of eternity. Or maybe it’s warm there. I don’t know. Would I meet her there? Would I be reunited with the life I chose and be able to live it forever without you ruining everything?
I wanted so desperately to find out but you wouldn't give me the satisfaction. You brought me within inches of death, brought the knife out and dumped the pills on the table but you wouldn’t press down just a little harder on that blade and you fed me just enough to numb me but never enough to set me free. You wouldn’t do it then and you won’t do it now, no matter how badly I wish you would when the memory of her wraps itself around me, squeezing the air from my lungs, leaving me weak and paralyzed.
There’s no moving forward when she’s in the room because she takes me back there of so quickly and I can’t let that place go. I want to believe I can go back there. I don’t want to let it go, no matter how badly it hurts. And it hurts as badly as the night you ended her life. Still.
They say it would be easier to move on if I laid her to rest, if I finally put her in the ground, but I can’t bear the idea of saying the goodbye that lasts forever. So I keep her in the corner of the closet, tucked away behind the coats and the rest of the shit I never wear here in my new life. I still believe that one day you will let me go and I’ll pull her out, dust her off, kiss her cold, blue, stiff lips, and breathe new life into her hollow shell, like prince charming waking his princess with true love’s kiss.
But you refuse to leave me be, even now when I’m stronger than ever. You watch over me, tell me where to go, how to act, who to be, and convince me everyday that you’re only trying to protect me. And you do protect me. You protect me from living fulfilled. You protect me from everyone who might love me. You protect me from happiness. And you protect me from the potential pain of knowing the world as others see it by keeping me safe in the hell you’ve created for me. Is it more painful here? Or out there? I’ll never know if you don’t open the gates and let me take a chance. But you don’t protect me from her, and her ghost haunts me just the way you intended it to.
You’ve got me trapped and tormented and I go digging through my closet now and then searching for some happiness in the caress of a life once so passionate and so alive but I’m only greeted by the harsh reality that everything beautiful dies, and in those moments I want you to push down so badly I fall to my knees and weep because everything in me is crying out in pain. I want you to open the bottles and swallow every last one then lay me down and close my eyes for the last time while you run your boney fingers along my cheek as the tears dry. Then I want you to tell me for the first time that everything is going to be alright.
But you won’t and you never will because you breathe in my pain to feel whole. You won’t because you’re stronger than me and not nearly as selfish. You won’t because you’ll never give up on this like I will. You won’t because if I go, you go, because I am you and you are me. I watched you slash her throat but I held the knife and the blood still stains my hands. You hold the knives now but my wrists are the ones pouring blood into the bathroom sink. I take the pills but it’s you who refuses to swallow. I keep her in the closet but you wouldn’t pick up the shovel even if I decided to bury her.
This is life without her, without passion. We’re all we have left and I swear to God I will never forgive you, forgive me, forgive us, for the things we’ve done.

No comments:

Post a Comment