I was bleak
Dying upon the floor
I wished I had sought
The lost
The rare and radiant, the angels

Here

You told me you wouldn't be happy.
Those words are engraved in my memory...
They were unnecessary
And cold
And harsh.
And they changed me.

I don't see the world in the same way.
I'm deeper in this never-ending abyss...
Deeper than I've been before.

Words are powerful.
They carry a weight greater than anything else.
They are hard to forget.
And they can be harder to remember correctly.

Your words hurt.
Like a bullet straight to the heart.
I keep finding it harder to breathe
Every day...
And it's your fault.

I keep telling us both that it's not,
But there's no other explanation.
You created those words.
The words that tore me apart.
And no words can fix me.

I'm a broken mess.
Your words turned me into this.
I am cold, and alone, and empty.

I still love you,
But I blame you for everything.
And that's what continues to hurt the most.

Not so much the words,
But the weight they carry...
And how the person who expressed them,
Was the only one I could trust.

She kissed your cheek and smiled widely,
the corners of her mouth almost touching her
impeccably tattooed eyebrows.
She was not what you had pictured
from the back and forth email conversations
on quotes and designs and sizes.

She asked you to take a seat as she went to
smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker;
Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers -
one of them is like a honey badger apparently.

It's funny how the mind remembers certain things...
the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in
adding ink to her needle,
or the song she kept humming while you
bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling.

But the pain of the needle depositing the
ink
into your skin was welcome...
It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were
experiencing the past seven days.
It almost felt good...
Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of
feeling
something besides sadness and anger.

In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment.
One on your hip, one on your foot
100 pound deposit. No problem.
You needed something to occupy your
mind
from the pain it endured over your "holiday."

So much for a holiday...
Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing *****
who "secretly" hates you and tried to
ditch you repeatedly.

The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince.
"You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent.
You nod, but you know you're not really okay...
You never were...probably never will be OKAY.

Your mind wanders...wishing you were home
and not in London, three thousand miles away from
the only people who seem to care.

"Done!" Tota exclaims.
You examine her work, smiling.
The first time you have smiled in days.
"Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited.
You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart...
Too bad that can't be tattooed...