You let me live
when i should've died.
That wasn't as kind as you probably thought it was.

Imaginary blood
still drips from
this imaginary knife wound to the gut.
It's staining my psyche
with the uneasy remembrance
of you
letting me live
on a whim.  

Those eyes,
that mouth that spat those twisted lies
and dubbed them truth
just to make me feel better,
made me feel the complete opposite.
The acknowledgment
of being alive
not because your succeeding in life
but
because your doing so poor
that others can do nothing but pity you
is one of the worst feelings in the world.
How dare you give me such charity.

Next time
go through with it.
Don't stop midway in transit,
inches away from impact.
Even though the knife didn't touch
it's sharp presence still cut me.