My Life

The words linger in the air, like a strange mist creeping beneath the window and surrounding us, its eerie haze creeps into my lungs, enters my blood stream, and crawls throughout my body. My heart drops, and the familiarity of pain erupts like a volcano.

Why must every chance at perfection be tainted by emotional infidelity?

So much pain… But it’s always the same. Am I stupid for trusting it? The Grim Reaper enters the room, his black veil drawn, his scythe in hand, and cold, dark eyes set on mine. She sent him, she always sends him. He walks in and cuts a perfect square in my chest, her maniacal laughter inebriates him, pushes him forward, even provides him meaning in his work. He looks down at my heart, I stare up in fear, and he leans forward, his cold breath on my face, I can feel his icy touch moving toward my ear. “Next time, I’m taking it.” And he glides out of the room.

A metaphorical explanation of her ripping my fucking heart out. Why? Will it ever change? Will I ever stop coming back to it? When will I learn? Do I need to learn?

And even now… She is out with his family, smiling, laughing, talking. What of? I am sure I am not even a fragment of the conversation. I am sure my name will not be spoken for the longevity of the weekend. His will. She’ll think of him, wonder if she should go to him, and call me to say goodnight; what a good night it will be.

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