Viola tricolor var. hortensis

There is a difference between my self destructive thoughts
And when I really want to
Hurt
My
Self

Self destructive thoughts are constant
They are the glue that keeps me stuck to the bottom
And there is a solvent for that glue
But there is no cure, no healing, no bandage for the pain I inflict on myself
No amount of therapy to prepare me
For the sneak attack of me

And when I really want to
Hurt
My
Self
Really want to drive the blade in and rotate
I think about
You
With
Her

Just scratches at first:
Were you able to run your fingers though her straight hair instead of them getting stuck like they did in my curly mess?
Were her lips softer than mine, because I tried to make them softer, I really did, by putting chapstick on religiously but you know I can’t…you knew…I always seem to get that one little chapped spot and I…

Then I start working my way up:
Did you marvel at the smoothness of her skinny flesh? How easy it must have been for her to lay across you without taking the price of your breath.
Did her short stature make you think of her as more of a woman?
Did looking down on her make you feel like more of a man?
And when you entered her…

And then I start to turn the blade:
What could have possibly worked better to patch your broken pieces than over a decade of my life and all of my heart?
What did she have that gave your hand the right to touch her bare thigh when it was still warm from mine?
Did you start to fall in love with her?
Did you?
You did. You had to.
It is obvious that no one could ever want this
HORRID
DISGUSTING
OGRE
OF A WOMAN.
INSECURE
DAMAGED
TAINTED
USELESS
PIECE OF GARBAGE.
UNWORTHY
PIECE OF SHIT.

And then I pour the salt in the wounds:
Anyone who wants me doesn’t know me.
Anyone who knows me doesn’t want me.
Anyone who says otherwise is a liar,
And you could lie so sweetly.
My biggest fear is you didn’t lie to her.

 

 

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