You laugh maliciously.
I harp on the dreams that someday I’ll escape you.
Dreams don’t always come true.
Your smile is snide.
Whatever made me lose the shriveled up existence of remainder pride, I blame you.
You are my reflection, you are my ever growing foe, I hate you so much, that the thought of showing you how truly sincere I am would allow all around to self combust.
A mellowed out version is simply this.
If I was capable of gouging your eyes out, shaving your head, and then plucking each and everyone one of your eyelashes out, I would.
The universe should of taken you instead of him.
He was everyone’s perfectly placed patch in the quilt of kindness to all whom knew him.
You’re just this awful creature he felt sorry for, this never ending charity case, that had a slim chance of becoming a gift, but you blew it.
You made a massacre out of me.
I’ve killed every inch of myself emotionally.
If only I could return the favor, too bad your time of death was long before mine.
I want him back, I want you to shut your fucking trap.
Constantly illustrating these grim pictures of me and all that come around.
Using your strengthen vocals for evil rather than just simply good, like your husband would.
It’s so easy to hate myself, I’m all you’ve conceived, I’m the future cycle, the anguish that beholds the next victim, the next beastly monster to soon be created.
I bet that makes you real happy inside, all your rotting inners just basking in delight.
Oh how I want to kill the center that revives you, that makes you so tremendously trifling.
You’ve destroyed what use to be pretty within me, now it’s slowly reaching the outside.
I’ll be old and wrinkled, resembling a mirror image of what you are now, while you are 13 feet underground.
I won’t let that happen you see?
I won’t become you, and I know for certain you’ve already evolved into me.
I’ll kill us both before it ever reaches that far.
Who am I kidding?
It’s one thing leaving scares on peoples’ hearts and robbing the metaphorical illusion of the cars that help our escapes.
Though thrilling as it may be at the time, to take one’s life?
A action that most likely should be thought out twice.
I could never do it.
It shall be easier to just end what’s throbbing, what’s beating now, inside of me.
I’m my own misery.
You’re content with your callous features, I want to slice up my skin and flush it down.
Bleed out before the authority comes to claim it attempt.
I want the motive to be carried out. Forever doubting the option to stop breathing, it shall forever be an alternative of mine,
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.