A Missive To Myself and To Her 1
And how I am coping with frustration as I gather the pieces of my broken self from the ground.
Today, we had our last fight.
Now, what a better way to deal with this feeling? I do not want to shed blood, not because of her. This sensation, a mix of regret, anger and loneliness. I wish I could erase her from my mind, I loathe the day that I met her, years ago, the worst memory that I will ever have, as evil as the ones from when I was a just an infant that follow me to this day.
I hate her.
I want to forget. I want to stop thinking and to never feel again. Not only about and not only for her, but for anyone else. Consciousness and feelings just serve to hurt. What a better way to achieve this relief, that elevation, if not swallowing a lot of medication followed by alcohol a plastic bag over the head then to go sleep? The eternal slumber, the one that might, or might not, give rest for the wicked.
Her unhappiness would give me pleasure.
To remember our last conversation, only a few moments ago now, makes my sight blur and my hands tremble, makes my heart and soul ache, both of regret and angry, makes me wish to had never have woken on this wretched morning.
To gaze at her, to ser her busted lips, the blood flowing from her nose and tears falling, would be a beautiful sight to behold.
...it would be not...
Copyright © The First Born The First Forgotten | Year Posted 2013
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