Trigger warning: **** scene, trigger warning: domestic violence, trigger warning: strong language, trigger warning: mature themes, trigger warning: grilled cheese sandwiches, trigger warning: big gray trucks, trigger warning: turning left at intersections, trigger warning: bad day, trigger warning: good day, trigger warning: barbecues, trigger warning: ****** movies from the 80’s, trigger warning: the hallways of my high school, trigger warning: my bedroom, trigger warning: my sheets, trigger warning: my hands. They teach you what to do 24 hours after being ***** but not 24 months after when you are still bleeding. They tell you about possible ‘triggers’ but they don’t tell you what to do when it’s your mother’s laugh or your father’s stubble or the way a stranger says your name. There is no pamphlet for this, no 12-step program, no hotline that I can call. I was cut open to the very core and I don’t know if it’s just that nobody sees it anymore or if they’re just used to the mess by now. They took down the caution tape way before I was ready and now I don’t know how to handle any of this. I am too small, my wings were broken and everybody expects me to be able to fly again but I’m starting to believe that he was right when he said I didn’t deserve to fly. My mother’s extra-strength Bounty paper towels and extra-strength love are not enough to stop my guts from spilling out all over the kitchen floor. I’m walking around with a bullet lodged half-way into my skull, my small intestines stretch all the way to my childhood home, I’m dropping pieces of my liver and my kidney and my lungs like a trail of crumbs for the vultures to follow. Every night I dream of my eyes being pecked out by crows and every morning I wake up disappointed that I can still see the mess that he made of me. My best friend is the skeleton in the closet of our love, we take nightly trips down memory lane with our arms linked and our bellies full of laughter (and hatred). I’m not sure how to come back from this. I’ve run out of vices and I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this game of hide and seek. Death is getting impatient; he’s been standing at my door for weeks and I am tired, so tired, and he looks tired, and I think it’s time I invited Him in. You can’t hold grudges forever and my grandma always told me that everyone deserves compassion, even Death.