I think we’re the ones

 

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I think we’re the lucky ones.

I’ve seen relationships around me rise and fall in the darkest of ways, I’ve seen people sob until their eyes could barely lubricate themselves and scream until their voices ran hoarse. I’ve heard stories of manipulation and mind games tearing even the kindest people apart, twisted them into mangled heaps of their former selves.

I think I made it out with only minimal mental scars and a heart that still beats at a normal pace.

I think you think about me from time to time and feel a familiar ache, I think you feel some sort of regret; I think you wish you could still reach out and touch my hand without me jerking back or flinching, with fear frozen in my half brightened eyes.

I think about you during thunderstorms, how easy it would be to send you a message asking you to be back in my life. How the sound of rainfall seems to soothe me to sleep just like your touch once did; I think about how our love was like lightning—fast, electrifying, and lethal.

I think about how stupid it is of me to keep thinking about you, how I keep writing about you. I’ve never written this much about one person, not since those 72 hours of utter hell last year.

I think we’re the lucky ones because if we really tried, we could start over again. And I think neither of us would really mind that at all.

But I think we’re the ones that were made to slowly poison each other; we just get to enjoy the process as we ride along.

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Intrusive: a spoken word

 

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I want you to think, I want you to imagine, I want you to step into my shoes for a moment.

You had the best feeling you could ever EVER have with someone.

But you had to leave, not just for yourself but for him as well because above all else HEALTH must come before all wants and needs.

And you go to bed with guilt rising from the stomach into your  throat praying to God that you’ll wake up and he’ll still exist in the world for one more day.

You’ll never know what it feels like to truly touch him again because honey, you’re the mistake.

Because from now on you are a walking VOID of seduction with the scars of his past etched onto your skin and lingering on your lips.

The sound of your name makes him itch and scratch, pawing at the now raw skin that resides beneath his clothes.

He knows you would never hurt him and that’s what scares him the most.

Because you still care, and he doesn’t know why.

You imagine him staring up at his ceiling fan late at night asking why, why WHY, why am I still alive?

My love you fail to realize that YOU are his poison, YOU are the contamination he cannot control.

I want you to think, I want you to imagine.

The only bridge you have between you and him is someone you love like family.

But he goes to HER, she goes to HIM, he talks to HER, she talks to HIM, and you sit there and wait for an update.

You sit there and twiddle your thumbs like a scared little girl because you realize how insignificant you are.

It is not jealousy that bubbles underneath the surface of your skin.

It is the pure hatred of yourself and who you are.

How does it feel to know that the one person you care about the most can’t stand to look at you without feeling like they’re burning?

To know that whatever kindness you try to give will only make it worst.

 

To know that you are an INFECTION that ceases to heal itself.

My dear YOU are the problem, and I swear to GOD  you better bite down on that “I love you” unless you want him to reach for the noose.

Standing there, wide eyed and helpless, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU.

I want you to think, I want you to imagine.

I want you to step into my shoes.

 

 

Sagacious: a spoken word

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Allow me to be the first to stand and congratulate you on this award winning performance

A round of applause for convincing yourself and others alike that things do not exist merely because the words falling from your lips speak them into oblivion

And I thank you dearly for this show stopping spectacular of teaching me that pinky promises are a load of shit and that promises you make were meant to be broken

I talk myself in circles trying to figure out exactly how you pull it off, how exactly can you erase an entire quantity of time with simple commas and statements

A divine magic trick and with a wave of your precious wand you have fabricated a world where you are happy, you are without all faults

But I knew you.

Your easy smile and saunter would once make a starry eyed girl like me leap and bound for the chance to be with your sinful nature

I knew you.

I knew that I would’ve ruined every chance of happiness just to see you shine brightly and that it’s an all too familiar notion teenage girls have these days, but no one seems to notice or care to save them from an untimely demise

We watch as they throw themselves into another being, we let them ignore our warnings and pleas because we become too frustrated to understand that they are too sick to hear

That the poison of a toxic relationship will paralyze the senses.

So I sit here with bile creeping up my now resuscitated throat holding back the venomous words I know would rip apart this lovely show you’ve given the crowd

I replay all the moments between us that I thought were drenched in watercolors and the most vibrant of light and realize, it was faded.

I was fading. I have faded.

So you carry on for an encore as the crowd sits there and hungrily awaits the lies and tall tales only a true actor can weave and formulate

As they ask for more, you give and soon you will believe in your own legends and folklore

But I know you.