When I collapse to my bed in the darkest part of the night it is with salt stains on my face. I knew it was only gonna get worse. The longer I'm away from you, the longer I'm with you - every moment we spend together hurts me more. It's the rush of icy air from my open window that jerks me out my self-pity and back to the task at hand.
I strip off everything except the black panties I had taken such care to match earlier in the day; they had been of little use to us, what with all the interruptions, anyway. I carefully fold the jeans you gave me. I am assaulted by the memory of your enraptured face when I took them off in front of you. I pluck off my rings, one by one, hideously aware of each empty finger - and the way they had fit so comfortably between yours. I turn to my mirror. The reflected girl that stares vacantly back at me is a shock.
When did I lose weight? Why are the circles under my eyes so dark, so sunken? Why do the scars not heal?
I close my eyes, see nothing but pulsing blackness.
Why do the scars not heal?
I run my fingers across my skin, searching out the blood.
Why do the scars not heal?
I breathe in, shallow and shaking.
Why do the scars not heal?
I exhale, the softest whimper.
Why do the scars not heal?
I throw my mostly naked body to my knees, fingers scrabbling angrily at the carpet. They find something soft, much softer than the coarse floor they should be feeling. It's your hoodie. The one that you said only the special ones got to wear. I pull it on - still shaking, still gasping back a scream.
I don't feel special.
I rise from the floor, biting my lips and finding the familiar taste of my blood. I give in to the subsidence that will send my face into the cool pillows. I curl inside the soft fabric, shakily breathing your scent in the curling fibers of the sweater. The zipper is icy where it lies over my heart. Alone, I gaze out at the moonless sky.
They don't understand.
Your voice broke when you clutched me close and said, "Don't go."
They can't understand.
My heart broke when I did anyway.
They will never understand.
These nights seem so much longer now.
Why do the scars not heal?
there will be a part [2] called Waking Up. less depressing, I promise.
ReplyDeleteBetter be. I freakin felt the pain. Probably alot less than you did though. But the point is you really have a talent for putting emotion into words.
ReplyDeletethanks so much, Eli! that's really what I want from my writing - I want to make people feel something. I want them to have it branded into their memory, burned into their minds. I want them to look back and say, 'whoa'.
ReplyDeleteExcellently written imo, i find this piece extremely powerful emotionally. I do find the "Why do the scars not heal" repititive yet i think without it, it would lack the emotion you are trying to convey, idk just my opinion on it. I like it despite its depression (You should see my porfolio cover about 2x more depressing then this lol). Anyway yeah, good job.
ReplyDeletedreamstalker, haa. yeah, in my mind it's like a voice getting louder, more desperate. it's not for visual effect, you can't just scan my shit - you gotta look slow and deep.
ReplyDeleteand I'd like to see your portfolio cover. angst is fun!! [x
thanks for commenting, Sterling. I needed your opinion.