last night it was exactly a year ago it happend
there were sad words leaving my pencil, I wrote a letter
a letter to say goodbye to everyone who once loved me or didn't

I was dancing with the demons in my mind, it was good
I was singing songs with my shadows, songs with the broken ones
and the devil was watching me from a close distance

my socks were ***** and the ***** bottles were empty
I don't even remember what happend to me that night

all I wanted was to create art when I woke up that morning
drowing in pain and tears, I wanted to make a painting
a painting with sad colors, like grey and black and navy blue
a masterpiece filled with my blood, my pain, my empty emotions

it were the pills I swallowed that night to keep me from falling appart
it were the blades rushing over my veins that made me feel alive
all these lose things, all these things, the visions of monsters, the pain
all the tears I cried that night, the alcohol I drank to keep me calm

but still it was your beautiful smile that haunted me, killed me
your pretty eyes and wonderful angel face that made me wanna live
you were all I could think of from the moment we first met, forever

it was you and only you.

You fade...
Like a bruise.

Like the ones your mouth left on my neck and shoulders with its lustful pressure.
Your teeth, which brought moments of bright pain/pleasure,
Are now bared in an artificial, animal smile.

Your lips, which parted to ******* skin like it was salvation,
Barely part now to speak to me.
You whispered my name like a prayer.
You screamed it like a curse.
You sighed it in contentment,
And now you won't even speak it in passing.

Your hands, which half-playfully pulled my hair...
Now won't pause to brush it from my face.

All these parts of you,
None more telling than your eyes.
Those new windows, which once let me pry...
Now have blinds drawn tight behind them,
Leaving only a pretty, shiny reflection-
A passing, glancing imitation-
Of the passion they once held
When they beheld
Me.

No color left to them but the muddy colors of
Boredom,
And possibly mistrust.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Like the one you left on my mind with your brilliant conversation
And beautiful, rusty prose.
Like the many you left on my tongue...
Which now can speak nothing but trite and meaningless words,
Which now can barely remember the shapes
Of all the shimmering, liquid phrases it spoke to you
That seemed so important at the time.

You fade...
Like a bruise.
Once lover and friend,
Now barely one
And never the other again.

I wanted her to live. I wanted to escape reality with her. To go somewhere peaceful. To find solace outside of the usual myriad of sounds and sights.
I wanted to take those little pills and find freedom like I always did, and so did she. So did she. So did she.
But there is no freedom, only a lack of personal imprisonment. It is ironic that our vision of "freedom" was enough to **** us. Poison. Pills. Little white pills. And a bottle of liquor to wash them down. To drown them.
So together we "escaped" reality's "prison" into the vast expanses of our hallucinations.
One more. Last one. Promise. **** that doubt and replace it with a little white pill.
Take a swig. Take a gulp. Take another. Let's make this crazy.
One more pill. Last one. I swear. Laugh with me. Drink with me.
Laugh with me.
Hey, hey, it will be fine, we're done. We're done. We're done so just relax. Float and fly, feel that high. Lay down and rest.
We should have stopped earlier.
We should have stopped earlier.
You know, we should have stopped earlier.
I am sorry. My bad.

So later comes and goes. She sits on the porch, smoking a cigarette. Smiles, all smiles. She is high, but she operates well.
I light a cigarette of my own.
I breathe in the smoke, let it coat my lungs. Watch it disappear as I exhale. She says something funny, and I laugh. She laughs, I laugh. It's hilarious.
She lives.
She lives.
She lives.
Unfortunately, that is a false reality. I give you the fake version to staunch the bleeding of insecurities and emotional detriment.
You see, I have mislead you. Fake. Fake. So fake, and how I wish it were not.
She never smoked that last cigarette. I guess to her, life was unimportant. Worthless. She was not seeking attention this time. She intentionally overdosed. She convulsed and died in front of me. I watched her swallow white after white and I didn't stop her. Her small framed body of innocence turned into an animal. Neglected, starved of love.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She will never exist beyond my memories. Beyond my dreams. Beyond her phantom visits to my vision. I am being followed. Stalked. Haunted. Chased. Hunted for a guilt trip.
Later, it's blade to flesh. Bottle to lips. Bleeding, regretting, wishing, screaming.
Anger, self pity, despair, depression, descent.
Cornered, frightened, spiraling into madness.
Welcome. It is with great pleasure that I invite you into my life.