I’ve had dreams involving you. Some sweet, some anxious. At night I catch myself talking to myself like you’re sitting right beside me. When reality hits, it hurts worse than yours

You were my best friend. I loved you, and I loved us. How did we get to where we are now? Did you always hate me? Did you think I was pathetic? Did I deserve all I was put through? Was it funny twisting me backwards until I couldn’t breathe any longer? Or did the joke wear out when you saw the light leaving my eyes and the fire leave my soul?

I fought so hard to not become my mother. To be someone who would stand strong and would know better than to be used and abused in the same way. And when I became a mother, I promised I would never put my children through the things I had been through. But every lie you told was too beautiful, because the love I had for you set my soul on fire. However, you forgot to nurture the kindling, and were caught tending to other fires instead. In the end, I now cry for the things my children have witnessed the same way my mother did. I stand in the ashes of what once was home to me.

My emotions get the better of me, and there was a time and place where I would have died had you asked me to do so for you. I was there every late night call for that designated driver. Holding you in the middle of the night when your head, heart, and even hands were too heavy. Maybe the blood on my hands helped wear down your stone heart as I beat them bloody to get through to you. But my hands are gone now, stumps left numb where I sacrificed myself for you. I’ve handicapped myself trying to love you.

I wake up and reach across the bed for you. It takes me a minute to recalibrate and realize that you’re not there. You’ll never be there again. And I can never go back. Going back would be like putting your loaded gun to my temple and closing my eyes. I wish you had loved me, and not thought of me as a joke. I believed for a short while in heaven. But I’m not religious. And like our love, heaven is fake

I thought you were my best friend and lover. How could you bear secretly being my biggest bully? How could you bear holding me in your arms as I cried while laughing at me behind my back? How could you tell me those loving words while mocking me to your friends? Was I not pretty or smart enough? Or was I just not the close enough amalgamation of “her” to be accepted by you socially? I was never what you wanted. I was wanted enough for you to try to pin me down when I would try to run from you, but not enough to respect and love me. I’m sorry, you won’t find me at the end of that bottle to soothe your heavy handed mind any longer.

You always confused and hurt me, complexities that I just couldn’t understand at the time lied within you. Drunkenly screaming for me to get out of your house in the middle of the night, but also holding me so tightly like your arms were a cage. Like it you let me go even for a second, I would vanish. And no matter how I tried to stay away, my love for our kin and your soul kept pulling me back to you. I wonder if you had fun pulling at the chains around my heart and I begged and pleaded to be just loved by you. Your love was never based on being in love with me, it was based in possessing me.

You live within my walls, my bed frame, my very DNA. I’m haunted by your touch, the damage done to me and the pleasure also brought upon from it. My brain has become foggy since becoming possessed with the thought of you. You reached into me, pressing and pulling my strings to see how to make me react, how to break me down. When I’m with you, I can only remember all of the damage caused by you. When I’m cleansed of you, you always find a way to haunt me harder than before. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be free of you. And the more bourbon you drank, the more my blood poured from your hands

It never truly felt like you respected my efforts and love that I had to offer you. Like me even attempting to love you was laughable in your eyes. You were stabbing me in the back, and instead of turning around to look you in the eyes, I covered my eyes and denied that you were ever capable of being so cruel. Treating me as though I’m some tool to appease enough so that you may use me to lift yourself up further. I was building myself to be a rare porcelain vase, and you used me to wipe your feet on and reach towards other pretty things. It hurts knowing I was enough to use and abuse, but never enough for you to love me, respect me as a person, and truly acknowledge and appreciate my efforts. I never doubted your work. But to you, I just sat inside on a computer all day. You never had any appreciation for my efforts and me putting forward what I had to try to save us. I think you were pulling us both under the water the entire time.

Remembering when I was so hopeful about us, all the times we had argued, worked so hard to keep things together, the beautiful, the chaotic., all that was once us and how much I bent myself backwards to make you happy. It burns holes into my soul like I’m burning through each photo of us wondering if you hated me from the very beginning or if you were making fun of me during them. Missing when I had such a deep love for you that was endless, innocent to where I never thought you would never do the things you did to me that you did. But it’s too late, and I loved you until I was running on fumes. You never would fill up the tank, you’d only put just enough in there. You could never be bothered to really go out of your way otherwise. But constantly running on fumes takes its toll. I miss you. I remember the impact on my cheekbone and the way it rattled my head and my brain. I remember the pain in my head for days. I remember the way you pinned me down and shoved me around. I remember the fear, the anger, the sadness. I miss you. I miss the lighthearted moments when things seemed brighter and better in life. When there wasn’t so much darkness between us. But nothing can undo what’s been done. The words that have left our mouths cannot be unsaid, your violence cannot be undone, and my anger and pain will not fade for as long as you would continue to cheat, lie, manipulate, and drag me down. And you were never going to stop for me. I wish you loved me as much as you loved the attention you received from everyone else. I wish you loved me as much as you loved the alcohol. I wish you loved me as much as you loved the parties and bars. And I wish you had seen that I was trying to help you before you had done all of the damage that you did to us. But you didn’t, and my hand was forced. I’ll be strong for my children, but I’ve never felt so broken alone in my life. I still cry at night. I still find myself pretending to talk to a friend to try to figure out where it all went wrong. I still wake up expecting you to be there. I still find myself talking to you.

“I hope that I stain through your memory.”

Tears stream down her face, coated in sweat as she pants and holds the gun, fighting to keep it steady as she aims it at his chest. In his eyes, an expression that seems a cross between disdain, torture, and longing. He breathes rapidly, deeply as he stares her down, refusing to look anywhere else but directly into her eyes. Refusing to even blink.

She lets out a cry of anguish, faltering for a moment as she loses aim. But as he goes to move towards her again, she pulls the gun back into position as she blindly holds him at bay. Tears begin to bead his eyes, “You would rather me die than fix what we’ve done.”

“We??” A chuckle of disbelief escapes her sobs, “I didn’t put us in this position. I didn’t do ANY of this, it was all you!” He attempts to step forward, and she begins to thrash the gun violently in her hands, “DON’T FUCKING COME CLOSER!”

His hands are up beside his shaking head, “You’re not going to do it.”

She chokes on her own spit, her nose clogged and her eyes blurry as she manages, “Don’t come near me again. I won’t let you do this to me again. I WON’T LET YOU HURT ME AGAIN!”

Fury rushes to his face through his tears as he balls his hands into shaking fists, “I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU! I DON’T EVEN REMBER DOING THAT TO YOU, I WAS DRUNK!”

“YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT,” she keeps over and takes a moment to hold herself, overridden with pain, anxiety, and betrayal, “IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME, IT NEVER GETS BETTER. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He takes the chance to take a few cautious steps forward, “You know I can’t do that.”

A wail of defeat leaves her throat, her hands to both sides of her head as a splitting migraine makes residency, the gun still tight in her right hand. She contemplates turning it into herself for a moment. The fastest way to ensure she’s never in this position again. This never-ending cycle of adultery, violence, substances, and false promises. Those delightful little false promises, the very same ones broken and left with her begging to be set free. To not be plagued in her mind by the thought of him and where he was, whether they were together or not. Whether she was the only one. Whether he would come home drunk and heavy-handed tonight or not.

“Listen…,” he moves closer, keeping eye contact with her as he lowers himself onto the ground nearby herself, “I know we’ve had our ups and downs. We both need to accept where we’ve both done wrong and do better. We can make this work. We can do better. And I know I’ve done wrong, but this isn’t just me.”

“We’re both just as guilty.”

She sits on the floor, her knees folded up to her chest as she clings to the gun. Her last lifeline. Its now or never, and the longer she tries to fight for herself, the longer and narrower the hallway leading to escape seems to be.

Could she really be as guilty? Could it be that, with every return she makes, she buries herself alive in his presence? Was she allowing him to mistreat her?

“…&%@$!%^?”

She looks from the hallways up to his eyes. She’s right where he wants her. She knows it.

The longer she stays with him, the more she wants to bash her head into the bedside table, over and over again. The way he manipulates and gaslights her, makes her question her reality, pushes her boundaries and limits daily as easily as he breathes air. He may as well be the one bashing her head into the bedside table. And if it were not figuratively already, it would be literal in time with the way he had just tried breaking her arm that night.

“….Please just hand me the gun.”

She shakes her head, her heart quickens in pace, and she knows she must make a decision. The pressure had been building, warning signs flashing that she was about to fall off the cliff. To exit the ride as quickly as she could.

And yet, when he looked at her that way, she could see him. The humanity in him. The part of him she had fallen for and loved so adamantly. He had come to the surface again, who knows for how long this time, but he was here.

The cliff was approaching rapidly. He reached his hands out for the gun. She could easily point it back at him, run out, leave, never return. But he would never allow that. She knew it. They both knew it.

She was branded by his touch, her ring finger scarred and disfigured from the abuse he called love. And in every way in her life, no matter where she may hide, she would forever be haunted by him. The feeling was… addictive.

He pried the gun from her hands slowly, placing it onto the floor within his reach yet outside of hers, and forced his way into her arms in an embrace.

The doors slammed shut, a free fall from the cliff as she missed her que to press the ejection button before the crash.

Is there anything more horrific than to allow yourself to be eaten alive just to feel the rush of being loved by another?

Who are you today

What is your motive for the way in which you live your life

And are you aware of just how important it is

You reach out without sight, a veil of diversions and a frenzy of hyenas all nipping at your ankles for whatever scraps of attention they may be able to receive from you. Your limbs convulse, thrashing out of habit towards whatever has won the bid for your time. There is such an abundance of time, and yet too little

So many things to choose from in which you can accomplish, yet the longer you stand still and attempt to find a direction, the longer you spend precious time lost, easily distracted, unaware of the version of you that you are yet to be. Of what will be your incentive, your inspiration, to push through the ravenous parasites that bite all along your arm, your hand, your ears, even your head

Time is ticking, and your time is running short

Do you fully comprehend how fickle life is? How blessed we are, to be able to appreciate and fully immerse ourselves in this rare experience in which we are currently residing within?

Do you understand how exceedingly fortunate we are, to be able to feel such agonizing, retching pains and yet be able to feel sick depths of passion and beauty? To be able to cherish and hold love, even if it will inevitably be pulled from our arms one day?

The scroungers are hungry. They emit a cacophony of alerts. You twist and drag them from your body, excruciatingly, one by one. Yet you still hesitate and leave a few attached to you

The hum in your head won’t go away. Complacency is the enemy, and the addiction is the direct tunnel, shooting up through your veins, into your brain for them to devour

When will it be the right time to get up? To start the project? To start ANY project?

But wait. What if you start this project, and it doesn’t work out? Or you could have been spending your precious energy on something better than what you’re currently working on? Maybe you could have discovered the right route to go down, had you just continued brain storming just a LITTLE longer

Anxiety rises, and with it the need for release

And just like that, minutes, hours, maybe even days have been stolen in an instance from your loved ones, your family, and especially from yourself

Lead to temptation and mauled apart, as they had the perfect traps laid out for you. A depressing crater, filled to the brim with distractions to keep you from ever leaving the hole

And should you leave the hole, not without another parasite or two fastened to your skin, set and determined to lull you back to their home so they may feast yet again

You need a detox

We all need a detox

For what could be more relaxing than stepping bare foot outside, the crunching of soil beneath your feet as the breeze whips around you, leaves swinging on their branches in a pleasant dance. Allowing yourself to absorb the warm amber glow of the sun as it caresses your face

What could be more meaningful than to spend time amongst loved ones while we have them within arm’s length, chortling to one another’s jokes. Exhilaration jumping like flames along your chest and arms as you take joy in games with one another, your cheeks rosy with joy. Enjoying the combined efforts of a collaboration of one another’s works or hobbies that you both share with each other, while our hearts are still pumping warm blood, our very lungs stretching and aching as they take inhale and exhale

What could be more beautiful than to be entirely present, without distraction, as your children grow and learn beside you. Watching you intently, as you in turn watch your screen intently to find some form of escapism

There are better ways to escape without finding yourself entrapped

Please, I implore you

Find what moves you

Find what motivates you

Find what gives you your reasoning to become decisive, and finally take a step, even if you are still rather blinded

Find the will to push yourself to go somewhere new, try a food you’ve never considered trying even once

Find love. Lose it. Then find it again

Find your calling. Realize you were wrong. Then build on what you’ve learned, and what you’ve now discovered is your calling

Make mistakes. Get hurt. Feel ashamed

Then learn from them. Heal. Find confidence and perception from these experiences

They shouldn’t be able to steal from us what is so rightfully belongs to us and our loved ones so easily

You are at the estuary, where you will soon discover there is so much more to encounter and undergo. So many more hardships, trials, triumphs and victories

Please find the will to oppose

(My apologies, I failed to keep it under 200 words, but I really wanted to follow the flow of what I was feeling and try to post it regardless)

Hardwood floors, coated with the fading scent of Murphy’s oil. The bedroom fan sits silently above head. You can smell the dust that coats the books that stand upon the bookshelves, and outside the windows almost every single one of the leaves are settled on the ground, the trees nearly barren at this point. The windowsill littered with the dried husks of dead flies, having fought in vain to escape. A distressed rug adorns the center of the room. It has not been vacuumed in quite some time.

Upon the desk lie papers in disarray, scattered and yet untouched for what seems to have been possibly months. You can smell the tinge of humidity coming off of the pages, and a mug with the leftover residue of coffee rests at the bottom in the outline of a wane, narrow circle, coated in dust as well.

And the centerpiece within the room; the old man who fell with no one to hear him, no one left alive anymore to come and check on him. No close relatives, no nearby friends, and property in the countryside out of view from the rest of the world. His body has long been on the floor. The wood underneath his body is putrid from the scent of his bio fluids, which had burst from his bowels, spilling and splattering from his anatomy in a humiliating, nauseating, and yet very human and natural fashion.

His skin looked much the same to that of leather; darkened, clinging to the outline of his bones. His mouth ajar, capturing the expression is struggle and torment in his last moments, his eyes already liquified and rotted away about a week following his death. Upon what was left of his withered skin were thousands of fly eggs, not yet hatched, awaiting their chance at life.

Decay. Mold. Rot.

The scent of putrescent, grisly reality.

And yet, outside of the window, all was still. Leaves dried on the ground, shuttering as they shiver from the crisp and bitter air as winter began to take up residence, with change being the only thing promised to always be constant in life.

In my dreams, I often meet the soul of that who I’m meant to be with. My soulmate, if you will

I’m not sure if he’s here, or ever will be here. But he’s there when I close my eyes and when I need it the most

It’s always the same place; in a sort of library, with multiple levels, hallways that go on forever, and stairs that seem to lead to nowhere. Candles adorn the corners, and there doesn’t seem to be a ceiling. It looks to fade into what almost resembles the night sky

And in the midst of all of the baggage, heavy packed away trauma, and pain that I support every day, he walks up calmly to me. Gently placing one hand to cup my cheek, while the other goes to the small of my back to draw me closer in an embrace. And in that moment, I realize how touch deprived I’ve been

I close my eyes, my breath hitching as I release the tension within my chest. He presses his forehead to mine, and does not go after me in a sexual nature in the way that others always have. In the same way that I’ve been conditioned to do as well. He simply holds me, gently rubbing my back and caressing my cheek, as I painstakingly liberate myself of the burdens life has placed within my heart

Then, when I am ready, he helps me begin to inspect all of the parcels, boxes, luggage, drawers, anything inside the nooks and crannies of my mind. To process them, provide the proper attention to them, and then release them

Occasionally, we run across beautiful memories and moments, forgotten for quite some time but still treasured none the less as we smile, giggling and reminiscing amongst ourselves. Some moments tender, bittersweet. And we hold one another, letting the moment replay as often as needed until we are ready to release it

Others have been broken, sharp edges that cut my fingers as I try to handle the damaged memory again. They are difficult to hold, cutting deep as blood spills over the edges of my fingertips and palms to the ground. I sob in agony, but he does not run or chide me for my outburst. He takes some of the burden upon himself, bleeding with me, regardless of it not being his responsibility

He chuckles with me, holds me, supports me. He loves me, truly. And above all, he is my best friend

When I wake, however, he does not exist. And while it leaves my heart aching and burning, I know I’ll see him again when I need it most

Even so, I can’t help but think sometimes how different my life would be if I could only find him in this lifetime. How much more beautiful everything could be, if life were gentle

It wasn’t always like this

At least, it wasn’t when she tried remembering things and how they were

She tried to remember how it was in her mind. Her palace with its beautiful sky blue walls and hardwood flooring. The sunlight coming in through the windows as golden beams, spilling across the dark floors and her bed with sheets brighter than the very clouds in the sky. And while it was built on what were now brittle bones, it was filled with laughter, deep conversations, and love. Portraits filled the walls of the grand entrance, and outside was an endless sea of tall grass, waving in the breeze with the promise of summer

There was a deeper understanding and knowledge that what you invested into this palace, you would receive in return. She would tend to the garden, her soft dusky hair tangling around her eyes and ears as the wind would blow. She would squint over the meadow, her eyes burning to see if she would spot him in the distance

And so she would tend to the garden, the livestock, the kitchen, and await her Prince’s return, eager to be reunited with her Love

When was it he stopped being her Prince again?

Was it when he came back to their hearth, drunken and belligerent, speaking spells that would sew seeds of hatred and pain within the very foundations of their home? And was it around that time that the roaches began finding their way into residency?

His hair crosses her mind. Shoulders length. Just a tad darker than chestnuts. How smooth it looked in the light of day, and yet mysterious at night. It framed his handsome face so well. And in the distance, thunderstorms illuminating a stoic expression within those deep brown eyes. So deep you could feel yourself being pulled into a whirlpool of enticement

Was it the first time he was caught dancing with someone other than her? Drinking this stranger’s ambrosia, as if there were none waiting for him where she resides?

And was the linoleum flooring always cracked and breaking in the bathroom?

His staring, in such a way that they pierced into the core of your soul. Enchanting, seductive, peculiar. Cracks began forming around the doorframes and corners of the bedroom. A rusty, bent and warped gate ran along the boundaries of her meadow. I wonder how she managed to overlook that for so long

Was it the first time he took things too far, hurting her? She looked down at her hands, now worn and realized she was covered in dirt. When did that scar appear on her ring finger? Did he really cause that? Was it a dream? Or was she just not remembering it correctly, like he had told her?

She could still feel the warmth coming off of his welcoming tan skin as he pulled her into an embrace. Speaking words of misunderstandings, forgetful of what had happened the night before, letting bygones be bygones. A return to routine, to warmer, happier days. A promise of change for the better. The air began to feel stale, and the stench of rotting began to permeate the hallways of their home

Holes “and food thrown across the walls and the floor as his voice echoes like thunder. She looks around the room, his dirty laundry covering the floor. Piss covering the toilet seat, mold growing in dark green mossy patches along the walls above the bathtub and toilet

Slowly in time, she began to realize that the palace she was seeing was nothing more but an an illusion. A false reality. And that her existence was very different than what she was being told and promised it would be in time

But even then, it still was not enough to break the spell

It wasn’t enough when he refused to let her leave with peace in her heart, holding his weapon to himself in front of her and threatening to end his life when she tried to cut ties between them. Suddenly desperate to make things right, while she begged and pleaded for him to stop

It wasn’t enough when he grabbed her by her wrists, slamming her down onto their bed in a fit of fury. Fear, anger, and betrayal ripping and pulsating throughout her body as he screamed and pinned her down, his now black colored eyes filled with hatred

It still wasn’t enough when she had to kick him off of her, and as she fled the room, he followed. Roaring, the very dragon entrapping her within the bars of her cage, as he shoved her into the next room entrapping her yet again

Not even her finally defending herself against the dragon, as she spat defiantly into the face of her abuser

No.

It was when he looked at her with such detest and rage as he wiped her spit from his eye. The look of resolution as he pulled his arm back. And the feeling of his knuckles connecting with her cheekbone

The rattling of her brain from the force of his fist against her face

The spell broke, and just like that, she could see everything with fresh eyes…

The end. The moment you realize your efforts are unseen, unappreciated, and quite frankly, unwanted

When you realize it isn’t love. That they don’t love you, or maybe even that you no longer love them

Silence is the sustained moment choking the air out of the hospital room, as realization sets in for the to-be mother that her child is not breathing before her cries flood the room. Her lungs expanding and burning in such a way that she wished her child’s were

Silence is the moment that lingers, filled with feeling of joy in the air after good friends just shared a genuine whole hearted laugh, drinks in hand, sitting around in the backyard enjoying the evening

Silence is when there are no words left to truly describe the moment at hand. When no one has anything left to say, and they are left taking in all the previous moment beforehand. It is what you’re left with them the moment has passed and realization sets in. It’s the conclusion