Once I hated you,
Without understanding the full reason of hating you.
For unexplainable reasons you were always there.
The very same shoulder I leaned my head against when stabbed.
My hate for you began when I looked down and found that it was your hand that held the knife that sunk into my stomach.
The shallow breathing,
The pain that surged through my very being.
Collapsing to the ground crying out for help.
Of all people, of all things.
You were the very least of anyone whom I would have thought.
Hearing your footsteps dissipate in the distance.
Scattering in every direction.
From that point on you showed me the meaning of silence.
The deafening moment of crying out for help only for no one to echo back to a throbbing pain.
Without understanding the full reason, I hated you.
This troubling silence that surrounded me.

Coming to the realization that at this very moment, everything was going to end.
Watching everything I once knew, everything I loved leak out of me.

I laid there soaked in attachment.
Growing numb, looking at the knife lay beside me motionless.
I hated you, but more so myself for handing you that very same knife.
The very same knife that ended up coming back sticking me in the stomach.
Once I hated you without understanding the reason why.
How could you do such a thing.
It wasn't until my head hit the ground that I laid there.

Forced to empty myself on cold pavement.
That I never hated you, for the pain that you thought you caused only made me realize how much strength I really had.

That letting go was essential to stop the suffering.

It wasn't until you stabbed me that I came to the agreement with my former self whom laid there bleeding out
That I never would have learned to see the beauty of everything around me if you never would have stabbed me.
Leaning to breathe again, leaving my former self behind

I remember getting THAT call... every second.
I remember the STING of the cold air, against my skin.
The JAGGED stains of dirt on my jeans
When I FELL to the solid ground.
...Like I was just STABBED.
Dirt COVERED my hands, that could be mistaken for blood.

I could HEAR the sound... of my heart shattering.
An EXCRUCIATING wave of pain.
I couldn't BREATH.
Choking out tears & Stifled SOBS, until I was nothing.
But, a SMALL mess on the cold ground.

My eyes flicker OPEN,
"Did I JUST die? Am I dead?"
I FELT dead, and empty.
I feel an AWFUL numbness, take over MY body.
I look AT the sky, through scattered tree limbs.
Specks of WHITE fall on me.
My hot face stings WITH every speck.
...with EVERY newly made snowflake
I now see MY breath in front of me.
Staring at the SNOW as it falls.

I am nothing but a SHELL,
I am NOTHING without her.
I live FOR her.
So... HOW do I learn to, live without.
I wish for DEATH.
But, I get CONSTANT waves of numb and empty pain instead.

I hate HER and I can't stand her.
...But I NEED her.
So, NO matter how much she hurts me.
I'd APOLOGIZE for it, and she's killed me so many times.
That if she got MY blood on HER hands, I'd clean them.

I just CAN'T un-love her.

I felt free and light
Like I was made out of air, or feathers
Then I was slapped back to reality
With a tube down my throat
Now there's this break in my eyes
A white flag, announcing my loss
I have given up

Can you see it, my deadly love?
Can you see what you made me into?
A living corpse, an off tune symphony
A torn page off of a book, lost and incoherent

I, as a cat
Have nine times to die*
I have given up three, and I would give up the rest
In a heartbeat, or a slit of a wrist
The sadness of the world, cries in my head
And the happiness that you once laid in me
Is now slipping through my fingers
I am made out of air

You broke me into a million little pieces
And stumped over each one of them
Over and over again
You can't feel anything
For I should have known
My heart is made out of paper
And yours is made out of stone

I lost count, of the times I cried for you
I lost count, of the times you killed me
My poems are my tragedy, and so is your love
I'm a poetess of death, or near death
The penalty of my half written dreams
Half written books
Half written poems
And our half written destiny

Won't you come, and pull the knife out my back
And bury it with my remains
Dust to dust
Loss to loss
And air to air.