Never Was Seen So Black A Day As This.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
I’m still alive. I’m still alive and I have nothing left to live for

Submitted: July 04, 2012

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Submitted: July 04, 2012

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The putrid hatred bubbles at my lips, burning its way out my body with its acidic flame. It tastes the opposite everything I would like it too: sour vinegar; curdled milk; stale menthol cigarettes; acrid decayed fruit; bitter & stale fungal bread; a shot of cheap whisky accompanied by an everlasting burn; rotten meat with its overpowering moldy aftertaste. Is this what death tastes like? Or is it just the denial that’s been growing in my organs for my entire life?

Fear rose quickly, too fast to be quashed by my usual defiant rebuttal and spilled from my lips. Bonding with my hate, it became paralytic, gluing me to the ground indefinitely. My body burned with the numbness spiking my limbs individually, blocking all nerves and signals. My heartbeat was imprinted on my chest, a visual image for anyone to admire. My brain felt still. No racing thoughts, no abject necessities, nothing. To be terrified wasn’t an option I had, and even if it was, what could I do?

Sprawled out on the floor, milk spilling from the glass I’d dropped - and shattered. Such a mess, such a big big mess… it was almost a reminiscent echo of my life. In fact, it was the entire basis of the way I live, shifting from one disaster to the next without delay. It was mocking me. As it travelled, it took the shape of you, the glass shards buried in your paper-white skin. You were coming closer and closer to me, sneaking under my body, soaking through my skin. You had managed to trap me this time and I couldn’t escape. As you embraced me, my bones turned cold, you’ve done this before. Sneaking up behind me, catching me around my waist, refusing to let me go. We were only children when we fell in love, before you proved there was no such thing.

You always had such perfect skin. It was always smooth, untouched. It smelled of temptation and thick, fertile soil, it smelled feral. Whenever I would kiss your skin, it would taste of the bright orange early morning sunrises of summer. It lingered on me for days after you left me and crept into my dreams while I slept. You are like coffee, you’re bitter, but addictive. At my tender young age, you left an indention so large that only you could fill it with your intoxicating personality. Edging me into a world filled with love, capturing me with your delectable kisses and luring me into a bed of lies.

Love is what we strive for, there is nothing else like it, that life without love is not even worth living. Whatever twisted way in which you loved me has destroyed me. It cannot exist because every time you spoke, lies slid from your mouth like water from a broken glass.

I’m lying here on the floor. My organs burned black because from your “love” you created a monster. Hate is a poison that is born in the heart and infects the blood. It clings to each cell, every atom of my being and escapes with every breath, every tear, every single drop of perspiration that attempts to free itself from my body. My face is wet with treacherous tears, corroding lines of disgust on my cheeks, scarring me. But these are scars that fade in time, they will not impact on my life as you undeniably have. Does the destruction of my body amuse you? The annihilation of everything that is irrevocably me?

Lactic acid is flooding to my muscles now, cramping them tightly, letting me know that despite my immobility, I’m still alive. I’m still alive and I have nothing left to live for.


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