Monday, July 23, 2012

in return

you've never looked so odd.
perhaps the true word more closely resembles
at this point.
for it's clear from
the worn-down fingernails
the sweat on your brow
the pink flush rising to your cheeks
the throw of your garments
the hesitation that lingers on bated breath
that you crawled your way here, clawing
through a booby-trapped heart
to get back to me somehow.

all i can do is stand in awe of you
and ask resolutely why you've come.

after all,
you did just recently take your time
destroying me from inside out.
you took me for a ride --
and i wanted to experience you,
so of course i obliged eagerly --
but you wouldn't let me off when nausea overcame
and so i vomited all on your dreams
and you blamed me for restricting them,
as if you ever would have let me
have that amount of control over your life.

you promptly lit me up,
which in turn set me on fire
and scalded me senseless
with your dazzled wit
and cheap shots.
and when the flame backfired
i took my only chance for escape
and you berated my healthy intentions,
naming it cowardice instead.

i should have known on the days
i woke
heavy from yesterday's makeup
and stale cigarette breath
that the violation i felt
was not just my mind playing tricks.
i only had virgin flesh to offer
but you made your kill anyway
and then acted like
i would never be
good enough
to abate your hunger.

it was then
that i threw you from my sheets
and snatched back the bits of my heart
you'd taken liberty to play with.
and it was like you didn't understand but
my tongue was not foreign
and my tone was not ambiguous.

life apart for so long --
to me, a remedy;
to you, what you deserved,
for you don't deserve me
or rather,
no one deserves the treatment
you admittedly bestowed:
you at the helm
and me being drowned at sea.

and what now?
pleas for redemption,
another try?

second chances are reserved
for those who hurt me
without knowing so.

you do not,
nor have you ever,
fallen into said category
and therefore
should be lucky to be graced
with even a fleeting glance
this time.

but such reminiscing
has so quickly exhausted my patience,
for you never gave me the time of day
and thus you merit the same
in return.

i walk away;
i don't know if you've turn at heel
and done the same
or if you're still rooted to the spot
watching me go.
but should either be true
it matters not much to me,
for at last i am breathing freely
and at last i'm not chained to your tomorrows
and at last i'm
back to me.


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