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he could not be compared.
he was lovely.
he was drowning in faithfulness.
he was what i thought i dreamed of.
problem is, though;
while i was busy falling in love, i
unknowingly built the walls of my life parallel to his own
and now these walls are deteriorating,
these walls are crumbling and *****,
and mostly because
there’s no windows for me to see out –
i have no idea what could possibly lie
behind them,
amongst them,
with them,
without them.
he offers to install windows,
he offers to break these walls down
with his own bare hands,
he offers to join me in
finding out what i wish
to see beyond these barriors.
but i don't wish for him
to come with,
i wish instead
to leave him inside.
i wish to leave him
altogether.
i wish i didn't wish so.
i wish i didn't have to go.
but i do.
i do.
some ghosts roam Heaven dying
to live again
some humans roam Earth dreaming
to die for once
she possessed a heart
so dark
he was puzzled
about how she
lit up
his world
She didn’t want the feelings anymore.

She didn’t want the lingering sadness after a short high of happiness.
She didn’t want the questions eating her up at night.
She didn’t want the worry of what she was and what she wasn’t.
She didn’t want to wonder if she was doing things right or completely wrong.
She didn’t want to be the home to violent hate for herself
but the same home to a vibrant and gentle love for him.
She had to get it all out.
She needed to reach down and take all that was within and put it outside of her.
She needed to **** what was in her.
She needed to purge all of the bad that was disguised as good.
These pretty butterflies fluttering through her belly had to leave.
Her stomach and her throat and her heart were no longer their flying grounds.

First, a few fingers reached
but didn’t get the job done.
Then a forceful full hand with nails full of flesh and blood tried to make its way to the creepy little critters that made her stomach tickle with sadistic love
but to no avail.
Finally, a full hand and half a forearm tore through the esophagus and the stomach lining.
At last, she could get them all out.

She sat hung over the toilet with a satisfying pain
that a pretty devil told her was the only way to get the buggers out,
the feelings out.
Slumped over the toilet,
she noticed there was a sweet and sour twinge of numbness dressed up as happiness running through her mind.
Hundreds of dead, black, sad butterflies floated at the top of the toilet.
They were all out.

She didn’t have the feelings anymore.
He couldn’t love her.
She was too dark.
Her insides were too twisted
and her brain was too sick.
Her bones weren’t sharp enough
and her soul was out of shape.
Her eyes were tired and blurry.
He couldn’t love that.
She couldn’t let him
love the Devil.

— The End —