I was dying quietly, I was on fire and I stood and burned
with my eyes closed and not so much as a tremble of my bottom lip.
But now, now I am dying loudly. I combust in a series of
loud explosions, I scream in agony, fireworks burst from my fingertip, I got up
in a spray of golden sparks.
Perhaps I have forgotten how to bare my pain silently,
gracefully. Or perhaps this is more pain than any one body was meant to bare.
It is a wonder that no one can see the madness in my eyes,
it is a wonder that no one has yet drowned in my blood.
I've regressed, all the steps I took forward lay in front of
me. It’s unbearable, do you understand? It is unbearable. I hate you for being
okay, for living your life, for carrying on without me. I hope you miss me, I hope
you wake up sometimes at night and feel as if a cold knife has been driven
through your heart, I hope you see the sunset and your hands burn at the memory
at holding mine. It is only just that you feel like that, because I do. I do.
I itch to call you, to tell you that everything that
mattered to me before is gone, to ask you to come back because you were the
centre of my universe and without you I float aimless, a lost planet.
I’m dying loudly, my breath is the creaking of a rusted door,
by heartbeat is the clash of cymbals. I've forgotten how to be soundless, I've forgotten
how to be poised. I spill over with black smoke and I cry shamelessly as the
flames engulf me.
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