lucy

I hit you in the face when I was 10 years old. To wake you up. You didn’t wake up.

You will never wake up. I hit you in the face when I was 10 years old to hurt you back.

You didn’t feel a thing.

I cried the day I turned 15. I wanted you to text, call, anything. You bought me a bottle of rum to say happy 20th birthday.

If you called me this year I would have killed myself that day. Maybe for the best. (Either way)

I wanted something, not nothing, if you ever sent that rum I would have drank the bottle alone and I would have hated you more.

I watched your coffin slide into the furnace today. It’s the first time I saw you in 6 years. I wanted you to hurt like me now you’re dead. I wanted you to die, I guess this isn’t what I meant.

I have so much to say to you but you’re gone. I never wanted to talk. Not till you died. These people are strangers to me but they call you family.

How can that be?

I am your slaughterhouse,

Your crematorium.

I am the urn that holds your ash.

I am your infected head.

And the blood,

Diluted with wine,

That slid through your veins

Plagues me.

Switching blades

Scarlett gore,

Certainly thicker than water.

You always cut deeper

But you will not cut me out of this mess

To be pulled from a fire.

To be held by my father.

This house should be cinder by now

I am the only one here

You are gone, you should not be

Able to hurt me anymore

But I, drenched in petroleum

Run through flames to look for you

An endless quest

For a heart

That has not beaten in weeks.

A heart that is still a myth to me.

So called hurt, not heartless.

Can you not be both?

Nature verses nurture pulled you and I under

My body is rotting

And your sickness,

Contagious,

Contains me.

I am the smoke from your fire,

Lingering.

Like a cancer you spread.

Your heart,

Beat

Beat

sometimes i think you’ll only care

if you find me half dead on the bathroom floor again

although, i’ve been half dead for years

and you never say a word until the ribs start to show through.

so maybe don’t bother again. i know how busy you are.

i’ve been big and small but you’ll never play dress up with me again.

it’s been a long time since i could walk comfortably 

in pink plastic princess shoes,

but i’ll try now if it means you’ll look at me.

oh God why won’t you look at me? 

you don’t even have to save me just watch me as i fall.

accept me as i fail.

this house is so full of anger and so empty of anything kind and nurturing

and in eighteen years i have found more comfort in strangers beds