you threw my ugly, pink glasses out the window and they landed in the deep end of the pool. when you dove after them, you tried to drown yourself but felt the urge to breathe too strongly to do so. when you came back to the apartment, all of your clothes soaking wet, it was me who mopped up the puddles. i set you out a new set of underwear, warm pants and a clean shirt. i ran the hot, hot water for you to shower. but you laid in bed and got our sheets wet and said you didn’t deserve to be warm. after that, we both got a cold.
you should have taken your car, your yellow hat and your hamburger and left me in at the hardware store on the coldest day in December, one year ago. you should have tossed me in the river. you should have let me jump out the two story window.
i know you. i have counted every freckle on your eyelids. i know the arch of your back and how it hurts you. i know the sounds you make as you fall asleep. when you collapse like an angry bear grown tired of his own teeth and you look at me so apologetically i think i can love you again.
but the truth is that i am only afraid. i’m afraid you don’t love me. but, how could this be love? this monstrous ball of scar tissue and false forgiveness could not be love. it is not gentle and it is not kind.
i want a battle royal. if you do one day decide to kill me, as you have warned of many times, i hope that we rip each other apart. i hope that we bruise every muscle in our bodies.
i am ready,
p.s. i have a theory that you are actually a homosexual. please come out and leave me alone, already.