Author: citrus scented PM
to the boy who grinned while ripping my life apart. id give anything to have that day back, have my innocence intact.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy/Romance - Words: 414 - Reviews: 22 - Favs: 2 - Published: 07-02-05 - id: 1953643
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a good day's when you dont exsist, when theres no sour knot inside my lungs
but today you're here and its creeping back again, that bile in the back of my throat when i think of you and everything you took away from me boy you burnt me bad and i'm still seething nasty things. it took time untill i could hold myself still enough to look at your slimey face without rushing out the room to purge my imperfect memories of what you did to me, and for a while i was proud. but look at my body: I'm still disguesting.
i still have your not-so-delicate-fingerprints dented into my flesh up and down leaving no-where but the souls of my feet ( so glad i kept my socks on). and everynight i drown into the mirror and want to hammer myself back into shape, but my hands are still stained with everything i hate i can't bare to pull back my hair let alone stitch up the empty shreds of what you left.
and you have some nerve to laugh, like everythings fine. like you didn't just destroy the life where i smiled daffodile smiles. it took me so long to create and you laugh like the tears on my face are just plastic; disposable tv-tears, not diamond illustrations of what i've become ( who could ever love such a
slag) it echo's in my precious ears, pinning me up and exposing everything he used to call me, and i thought i'd painted over that part of me a long time ago but you chip away the life support id created to help me cope. you chip away so everyone can see the part of me i hate, the part of me he made, and the part of me i try so hard to break but its just so invincible and you're making me ever so weak.
i sit there, hysterical screams pounding inside my trash-can mind maggot words crawling up my legs and into places i should never have let you touch, but -what they don't understandand is that afternoon you turned into something frightening; dispite your milky match-stick arms you pushed me aside wiping away my non-exsistent protests and plunged me beyond a veil i wasnt ready for. well hope you feel glorified.
these day's im just a handfull of ash.