Monday, March 25, 2013
I hear your voice in my ears like a faint buzz of a distant fly; irritating me while I sleep, while I sit, while I pray. I can’t rid myself of you. The inner battle is a fight I keep trying to win. I can’t win with you: flies are hard to beat. I’m annoyed by how much I care, how much I tend to hold on to stupid things. And there you are, crying your tears, manipulating me into always always loving you. I’m not doing that anymore. It’s a thought I have almost every day, and yet…
The whisper of your staged pain makes me want to burn my own flesh off my arms, my legs. I can’t do this anymore.
The drone of your pre-meditated lies, your idea of making nice or making nice enough. I won’t do that anymore.
Somehow today is different than the one before it. Than the one before that, and so on and so on. Somehow it is bigger and filled with light. Light enough that I can really see you. I can really see your mouth turned up in a smile, but your eyes flickering with rage and jealousy and deceit.
I liked you better in the dark.
I like everything better in the dark.
I will not apologize.
I’m not doing that anymore.