There is a difference between my self destructive thoughts
And when I really want to
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
Really want to drive the blade in and rotate
I think about
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?
You did. You had to.
It is obvious that no one could ever want this
OF A WOMAN.
PIECE OF GARBAGE.
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.
I was remembering how your ring was always a little too big for my thumb
But I’ve gained some weight
So I had to try
Even though I can’t wear my own band without tears and pain
So I get out of bed
And tread the silence of 2 am as quietly as possible
Because 2 am wants the company I don’t want to give
I make my way up the stairs
Making a mental note to vacuum them tomorrow
There’s so much dog hair on them
I stop at our sons room and peek in
He is an angel
So I go into the spare room and walk to the shelf
I think you’d like the box you’re in
Classic…not too over the top
Your name looks regal when it’s engraved
The top slides, so I move your favorite picture of us
That is in the frame I bought with the gift card we got as a wedding present
My smile was so big
I move the picture and slide the top from left to right
Inside is the rose you gave me
The one when you tried to get me back
I took it and then said “How dare you make me watch you drive away again.”
And then I watched you drive away for the last time
So I take out the rose and put my hand to where I think the rings are
So I slide my hand along the thick plastic that holds what is physically left of you
Maybe they slid down in a corner
So I check
And they aren’t there
My mind goes frantic
I replace the lid and run downstairs
The stairs I really need to vacuum tomorrow
I check the first by grabbing the pile of hemp necklaces and chainless pendants
I open the second; the carved wood box you got me in California
I check another box, the one your mom gave me for Christmas
She’s dead, too
I go to my mom’s jewelry box
She’s also dead
I stand and stare into nothing
My mind racing
I do the only thing I can and run back upstairs
But like, who puts carpet on stairs anyway?
I take your box off the shelf and sit it on the bed
Slide the lid from left to right
Take out the rose
And I carefully lift you out
This bag of dust is not you
You were the one that made me laugh harder than anyone else in the world
You were the one that couldn’t live without me
You were the father of our child
You were mine
I glance over to the box
And there they are