#eplogue

with this beast writhing against the mattress, and the light tunnelling against its skin, it looks up at me, hoarse with fear,

“save me, you can't just leave me here,”

i peer down into its eyes and with my dagger i plunge.

“your best friend?” people ask, “what went wrong?” they ask

“greed, and a love too heavy to bare.” i spit

on my lowest days, i wash my body with its blood, and cry out to it, all the same. i ask myself what they ask me,

“my best friend, what went wrong?”

and it always answered back, “you bare the scars of heavy love.”

i always thought because i could forgive a man with a violent heart — one who terrorised me and cried on my lap apologising — that i could forgive a boy with a hungry heart, one who swallowed up all that he touched.

others thought so too, so when i returned with a murderous intent and crimson hands, they were appalled to see your mangled corpse, and me alive.

— a.n

with the shotgun in your hand, you slouch, making yourself shrink smaller than you already felt against this tall task.

he hands you a knife, looking expectantly at the animal laying still, glossy and big-eyed, and he looks back at you, who has the same widened wetness and paralysis.

as you carve into the skin, all they see is venison, a feast for the family, but in your head, you’re screaming apologies. 

“tell me boy, what do you see?” he asks

and you want to say “an innocent friend, nature’s child.”

but you see the blood on your hands, and the pride in his eyes — you gulp.

“fresh venison! our meal for tonight!”

you weren’t wrong, but that wretched corpse was trying to climb its way out of you all night, and you wept and cried ‘sorry’s to the wind hoping your words found its soul.

— ❁

i crawl out of bed, the winter breeze shaking my knees as i scramble to your door, grabbing the hunting knife from your shelf; my grip so tight that my fingers tremble.

in this foreign house and state, i sit by your door completely still and unbreathing, attempting to hear any noise that creaks at 5AM. you shuffle and feel my absence in the bed,

“i hear someone,” i whisper “go back to sleep, i’ll handle it.” i say between the grit of my teeth, playing with the blade in my hand.

but your silence followed by a gentle pat on my side of the bed swayed me. i place the knife down and slide under those blankets; with my warmth, you lull yourself back to slumber, yet i stay on guard for another two hours.

i eventually calm down, i notice the voices came from your brother’s television, and that your sanctuary is safe.

a few hours later, i rise to the day and i see my knuckles red from my grip on that knife. i played in my head numerous scenarios, and never a single one would put you in harms way.

— ❁