August 25th
You said I was paranoid and then you proved me right.
The words sunk into my chest and my stomach and my heart. Heavy and twisting.
I didn't think I could feel so sick, I didn't think I could feel that much pain.
I'm sure she was beautiful, and she was lonely.
I'm sure you were being a friend.
I'm sure nothing came of it.
And those nights were spent sleeping in gutters and on trains.
Well maybe you don't realise how absurd you sound.
And maybe you don't realise what that all meant for me.
Inadequacy and doubt and pain that never truly leaves.
You told me you were ashamed. You wouldn't get out of bed.
I was on my knees but you stayed there, covering your face like a scared little boy.
I don't think it was me. I don't think I scared you. I had tried to keep you safe.
I had tried to bring you home but your eyes glazed over and you pushed my hands away.
In the end, none of that mattered.
You had hit rock bottom and you let everybody know.
I wiped away my tears so I could wipe away yours but even then you wouldn't look me in the eye.
We fell apart, and I knew that was okay.
And we moved on.
And you said you were done.
So why are you still here?
Still on the streets and in the bars.
Still wrapping me in your arms like your unfinished business.
Still telling me I wasn't good enough.
Well tell me again.
Remind me of how I failed.
Remind me of all your pain.
And I'll feel nothing.
For you, I feel nothing.
