The untrusted word The broken promise The knife in the back The smile behind the hand The lies and laughter The bitchy disaster The unlikely recovery The fake concern The non-sensical question The anger returns There’s no hurt There’s no sadness It’s all anger now. Vicious anger. Ready to over flow, Like hot lava all over.
P.S. It’s been so long since I wrote something like that. Not that I have improved over the years. Not even a bit. But, well, it is what it is.
I wonder if the cheerleader feels it. When the music stops and everyone goes home? When the day is gone and she doesn’t have anyone to entertain herself with? When she removes her makeup, taking off her brave face for the day, do the demons she keeps buried start playing with her when there’s no one else to play with?
I guess not. Narcissists don’t have insecurities, right?
Walking down the winding path; The path made of everything new, Silent days and screaming nights, Happy fights and painful comfort, I stop and think.
I think of all those hopeless days. I think of all those shouting matches. I think of all those broken promises. I think of all those lost smiles. I think of how everything has changed, With the days gone by, And passage of time, altering my reality.
I no longer crave the comfort of company. I used to write as if I wouldn’t survive; Survive without the support of my words. But, now I write of the broken promises and the lost smiles. Now? I write of the sad reality. Now, I write of reality.
I look up from my spot, perched on the roadside bench, And see the strain in the laughter, And hear the tears about to fall.
I think back to the past, and then, I smile. I smile because I am letting go. I smile because I am ready to glow. I smile because the breaths are numbered, And I don’t want to waste another, Thinking of the regrets plaguing the time gone by. I smile because I am ready.
I stand up from my seat at that roadside bench, And I feel lighter. Lighter, because I am leaving it all behind, Right there on that iron bench With the peeling paint and a crooked leg. Lighter, because…just, because. I start walking again with a slight smile playing on my lips, And this time, I don’t look back.
You have always been my anchor; someone, something that kept me still; grounded. You have always been the self-appointed mental bouncer who kept me sane and away from all the crap. You have always been that sweet smell wafting up my nostrils that alone had the power to calm my wildly-beating heart. You have always been like that ice-cube on an annoyingly hot day that cooled me down as it slipped down the back of my shirt. You have always been like that soothing song that played on repeat on my mp3 player when I wanted to do nothing but burrow under my comforter in my comfiest pajamas and let the world fade away. You have always been like those deep-set dimples at the small of my back that I always wanted but never could work hard enough towards achieving, because it was something else. You have always been special. You have always been you.
Now? You are the melting snowflake that can make my heart flood.
The gunshot in the distance felt like it had been fired at her. As if the bullet had torn the delicate layers of her skin and right into her heart. It had felt like…last year again. She closed her eyes shut tightly,trying to block out the sirens and burrowed further into her comforter. She wanted to run, far enough so that it was all a bitter memory and nothing more. Where the littlest of things triggering the worst nightmare of her 19 years of existence wouldn’t make her lose her shit all the freaking time. She was tired of those stupid panic attacks that gripped here anywhere, the streets, the local cafe while trying to enjoy the morning coffee, the garage she worked at…she was tired. She wanted rest. Her mind needed rest. God knew, it had been too long since it was quiet for even a couple of seconds in there. The knock on the door ported her back to that night she wanted to escape so badly, but never could. That terrifying storm. The drunk douchebag her mother had brought home. The douchebag young enough to be her older brother. The douchebag who had eyed her all night long during that pathetic excuse for a “family dinner”. The douchebag who had invited himself to stay over because he wanted to spend more time with her mother and her family. The douchebag who had tried to grab her when her mother had turned in for the night. The douchebag who had slapped her so hard when she tried to walk away that the blood had rushed inside her ears. The douchebag who had pulled that 9 millimeter on her and threatened to shoot her mother if she didn’t concede. The same sorry douchebag she had kicked in the balls and grabbed that gun from, trying to stop her hands from shaking and aiming right. The same bloody douchebag who had jumped at her, and in the fight, had grabbed onto the gun. The same douchebag who had died that night. The same douchebag she had killed. The same one whose blood and gore had coated her body like a second skin, the feel of which she had never been able to scrub off, no matter how searing hot showers she took over the year. The same douchebag who had ruined her relationship with her mother when she wasn’t ready to accept in her heavily drunk state that her douchebag boyfriend she had claimed to love was that huge an arsehole. The exact same one who had ruined her life. That one. She snapped out of it when the insistent knocking was accompanied by a police officer asking her to come out. She walked slowly and snapped the bolts. The sight that met her eyes threatened to transport her back to that nightmarish sight. Police vehicles with sirens blaring, ambulance, people all around…it was too much to take but she slipped on that mask she had perfected over the year to give nothing away and calmly asked how she could help. The police wanted a statement. Again. She started talking.