You’re a perfect example of the desperation I see all around me, people trying to find a cure for their loneliness, only to feed it more by spreading the disease. Let me reiterate;
you are pretty much the physical embodiment of all things I loathe.
You talked about your life like I should be inspired or something.
Believe me, the only inspiration you gave was for this writing.
Things left better unsaid got the best of me. They still do.
There is a moment I can still replay in my mind like an insidious video recording. I’m standing in our living room and I am sixteen years old. I am upset, but I don’t recall the reason. Looking back, it was probably something minor. I’m in an altered state of consciousness, facing constant confusion; questioning my own fucking sanity. I feel I’ve lost all self control, hanging onto something that’s only bringing me down. I remember with clarity, questioning myself how much longer it will be I strive to fulfil the emptiness inside my heart. The hotter the pursuit, the more elusive it became.
It was months before I saw with clarity once again.
After multiple hospital admissions, police reports, interviews and court proceedings, spending the night of my sixteenth birthday in the emergency room after a four hour recap of every, single, fucking detail, I still wonder,
what if I could change it all?
Would I change it?
What if the alternative future didn’t include the amazing people I have surrounding me, I love enough to die for?
What if in changing the past, and removing the pain, I never wrote a single word for anyone to read?
If I held the key to the past, I would stand on the edge of the sky and let it fall wherever it was meant to be.
That’s where it belongs.
It was easy to forgive you when I realised how damaged you were inside your own heart. I imagined you first as that wounded little boy you once were, and the rest came easy.
No, erase that last bit.
“I wish that I could cry. At least maybe I’d know how I feel. I remember how easily the tears used to come, and it seemed for no reason. But I can’t cry. The whole world is cause and effect; I cry, people ask questions. There are days I want to scream, punch something, anything to release it all. This is my burden, no one else’s. My life. My thoughts. My memories. My nightmares. And for every question, I learn to fake this smile a little more.
Maybe I’m a little bit over my head. I feel so far from where I’ve been. How could one night affect me like this?
He got arrested today.
“I’m fucked.” This time it was him screaming.
Did I just fuck up a man’s life?
After all he has put me through why am I still haunted with guilt? With fear he’ll come after me, again?
Make this all go away.”
- 3rd May 2007.
There are still those nights I lay sleepless, expecting something more, anything.
Some sort of sign your regretful of this, a little at least?
In the eyes of the law justice has been served, but in my head during those sleepless nights I know this has not yet ended.
The scars still here. A constant reminder of what you did.
The one downside to justice; it feels good but it doesn’t change a fucking thing.
I hope to hell you die a painful death and karma gets you, because I am not strong enough.