you took my ****** rags and smeared them with your spit-- taped naked pictures to the wall of that dungeon until all he could see was your body, and your body alone. you loaded the pistol and shot yourself in the foot, when I noticed the bleeding you said it was just a flesh-wound. he finally fizzled your toes from out of your shoe, a dark cinderella-meets-the-prince-in-the-dark, and I saw that the wound was so open and gangrenous that little spritz of dried blood had formed faces and tears on the soles of your torn-and-tumbled canvas shoes.
you tried to say sorry. you pleaded and pleaded and said you'd take pistol-to-head or pistol-to-heart to be rid of the pain of my gargled and gutted reaction. you cried and you cried, our hearts sunk to the bottom of plastic-now stomachs.. but forgiveness is no microwave. forgiveness is a ballpark in steep Illinois summer heat where you drink to stay hydrated, think to stay sane, and write to the titter of tears on your chest.
Now heal your wound, antibiotic the gangrene. Just better the soles of your feet.
I'm already walking and walking and walking 'til my face meets obliterate sun.
my girlfriend and I have ended. she cheated on me with an old sociopath I once called a best friend. She lied and hid this truth for upwards of two weeks, feeling guilty of the sustained ****** interaction between her and him. they did not have ***. she sent him inappropriate photographs, and they skyped inappropriately later the same week. all ****** interaction was over after that.
I had suspected something strange, and when I asked her many times, she lied through her teeth out of fear of losing me. But it came around, and I learned everything, and then some.
I ended things with her, she flew into a suicidal rage, and I was forced to call 911 for her safety. She is at a hospital now, and I am worried. I hope she gets better.
My heart is a little bit weak. My head is a warzone of thoughts and chemical equations. I am lost again. I have lost again.