Bittersweet Goodybe #1: Stained with Crimson

Goodbye my lover. Goodbye my friend.

I see the knife. I see your body. I see the blood.

It's everywhere.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It's pouring out of your throat, onto the floor. It's on the carpet. It's on my hands.

I don't feel the guilt or regret, I'm numb. No tears; numb.

The smell of rusty life chokes my nostrils; blood. I stand here for what feels like an eternity, just staring at your lifeless, contorted body, with arms and eyes wide open. Time is standing still for me, allowing me to just stare. I suppose time wants me to forever remember this moment.

But time decides to start up again; i hear a knock at the door.

In he comes.

The love of my life, ironically, not my fiance. He notices the corspe in the corner of the room, and he tries to find the right words of gratitude

"you stupid bitch"

Or not.

His hand flies up to my face, and comes pounding down. A hard blow. The blood rushes through my nose and splatters onto my wedding dress. How artistic. The anger concretises itself in the form of fists.

One.

Two.

Three blows til i fall to the floor.

I try to call for help, but no sound escapes my swollen lips. The numbness has gone and your face flashes through my mind. I hope you understand why I killed you on our wedding day. If i hadn't, your fortune would have made its way to him. My murderer. I lay limp, i know his intentions; to kill me.

I'm lying in your blood as he picks up the knife i left by your body, my white dress soaking up each drop of crimson life. I'm being cut open beside you, with the very same knife you were killed wih.

How romantic.

I take your icy, limp hand in my own, and wonder

will you still love me when i see you in heaven?

One Month

One Month. I had spent one month in deep slumber. Needles constantly pierced into my veins, transporting drugs into my bloodstream, drugs which were supporting what my "sleeping" brain could not; Life. Murmurs of desperate hope clung to the bleached walls, hollow eyes and cold hands were my company,

the only excitement in that place was the occasional visit of death.

But it didn't feel like one month. It felt irregular. Blown out of proportion, stretched into abstract. To me, it lasted a split second, which seemingly was an eternity. An eternity of seeing where I would go once the life support was taken away. Where i would go once death would knock on my door.

The saviour showed me. He guided me through both worlds. Holding me down when I felt i was being tugged back into life, apparently it wasn't time, and that there were still things I had to see.

So he took me. He took me to the place they call "Hell", to show me how different it was from what i had thought it would be. Flames, intense heat, those were just stories told to frighten little children. Hell was colder than the room my human body was resting in. It was questionable, for there was no sky. Just a void above our heads. Yet, the chill was insane, and the air was stiff. The earth was cracked and hollow; similar to thin ice. This whole place was like a tundra, inappropriate for human life. That's when he reminded me, there was no life there.

He showed me the sufferers, driven into insanity, from confusion. They had tried too hard to understand their situations, what they did to deserve this unimaginable fate. Strewn across the ground, bodies piled in heaps, the sufferers would be tortured endlessly, by their own minds.

And if they give into their minds, they would die.

For death will always visit the suffering, the saviour said.

Wasted Time.

I grew more assured, as each minute passed, that you had not changed during the time you went away.

My hopes went crashing to the floor when you left without saying goodbye, but now you're back and you're exactly the same.

I guess I should be happy, that you're still the same boy I fell in love with years ago. But no; all I can think about is how much time was wasted and how what could have been, and what should have been, will never be.

It would have been better if you came back entirely different. With you being the same person, all that stands out are the things that have changed. Like the awkward silences and the glances from across the room.

You can't expect things to just fall back into place, you can't expect things to be how they were. All of this is now just a void, what we had was swept away.

Very belated New Years post

Welcomed into the New Year with laughter, fun and joy. The celebration was held with family, fireworks and drinks. Gambling with cousins, lucky streaks, bankruptcy. It was a kodak-moment event; laughter and the sound of clinking glasses filled the air, conversation never running short, glasses never empty. Cards, coins and notes tossed onto the table, only to be used to buy more drinks. Fireworks lit up the sky, the lights danced a dance of happiness, new roads, new chances, new beginnings. The dancers faded into the night sky, disappeared behind their dark curtains and left their audience with an awed silence...

and the hope of a New Year.

Gashed.

The tears flow out, uncontrollably. Tears of Hate.

The heat of my temper. Balanced by the chill of the tiled floor.

The anger running through my veins. Escaping through my pores.

There is no reason to feel this way.

Yet, I do.

And I want to hurt you. I want you to feel bad.

But I don't know why.

I read a passage in my diary.

I took a trip down memory lane

to the times you pierced me with your mixed signals.

I remember the time spent hoping;

The nights spent hurting;

The showers spent crying.

And I felt the hate surge through me.

Even though that's all gone now,

even though it's the past;

I can't let go.

But I can pretend to.