please backstab me. by sufferingiscute 23. 01. 2024
and i tell myself no, i click open your profile, i check for what i know is empty, a bin without food, no leftovers, no nothing. i tell myself no, and i open the lid again. i say this time i will open the covers of a story that will not ignore me, that will reach back to me, and i waste what i have on bus trips to your neighbourhood, blowing a kiss good-bye, goodnight to all my spare change.
empty purse, beautiful love.
enthralling, useless, starvation, grumbling, unsatisfied, unfulfilled love.
guilt. growling stomach that i try to stifle the sounds off every time we do happen to meet under the blistering sun, you waving cheerily.
how can i say that i do hate you? that i do, indeed, not really hate but resent you? that i am ready for you to make it easy? if you are going to leave for so long, then don't come back home.
you can't ignore me as you like anymore and you don't get to know that i am leaving you my share of my shoulders. i want to say this, i want to scream, but i only smile and make idle chatter about meaningless things until my time is up and pretend to love you. there is only a shell of you here. even if i hug it from night till noon, i cannot infuse it in warmth.
say this, i do. i also keep visiting the same place, getting off at the same empty apartment, clutching on to my leathery bag, walking around in circles, getting back onto the bus, hearing the whispered gossip of those sitting behind me, bearing the bus driver's pitiful glance like a shawl of shame, checking my phone.
maybe i should care less - it has occurred to me, but i know nothing better than i know burning, a candle wick soaking up every last drop of wax in an attempt to see you through the night, although you've long left the room. you think you can catch up, restore, recover, return. i say the least, the surface, the smallest truths, the easiest burdens. and i keep my secrets to myself where they will not fell you.
i was never an easy person to love! you ought to know this! if so, why did you split hairs, and decide that i was a manga you could pick up after a while, a few months after dropping it! i made myself difficult to love because i do not want to be left easily!
i lie again. or maybe this is my lie, and what i tell you is made truth. it's all subjective, the scarring. to me, it hurts to flex an arm, to you, there is only slight discolouration and i cannot see my own skin unless i crane my head over. call me faintly and i turn my head, i wish i could call myself busy and walk away, but i
am living poetry, which means i regret always the love that i hold up to the light like gold you can peer through and pressure myself to be love's full form again. then, i console myself with saying it is the right way. if it is right, where is my reward? seeking rewards in itself is foolish. love is not supposed to be an equivalent exchange.
so call me hungry, call me ugly, call me desperate, call me poverty. call me a deranged lover and call me pathetically ready to please. i will take any abuse i can, so blow me up enough that i break like a stretched balloon. set fire to my fuse and key me free to murder the breath in the sky like one of those fireworks you so dearly love.
CALL ME PAIN! call me ANGER! call me irreprehensible inconsequential inconsiderate nuisance! call me a night to be fled from a nightmare you shake away from call me shackles and binding and everything delightfully unremorseful!
Make me ugly, paint me black, so I can hate you! Blind me with no more half-enacted kindnesses, let me LIVE/leave.
please tell me softly, almost on shattered ears, to my startled eyes, that my stomach is distended. that I look disgusting this forward, hunched up like a ragcloth doll discarded at your green bin. admire my tear-streaked, dirt-stained face, the cheap way my mouth twists at the corners, the yellowing of teeth that have drunk too many teas of sweet sweet sugar. tip my chin up with your precise hands and deliver the deadly blow.
punch me. thrust me far. only leave no hope for me to hold out behind.
this is only my beginning. for now i am clothed in clothes of previous reincarnations, the fabric you wove for me on your loom. and these clothes are stained ripped shredded torn smeared delicate fragile ended. hold me up to the light and tread me under your heel saying that i am nothing of worth. then and only then will i be able to believe it is time badly spent and stand up again.
no matter what, don't make me do it myself.
every edge of the sea pleads you to let me out of this twisted carnival.
drop me OFF the DAMNED OVERHEAD BRIDGE!
hey, I'm calling your name, so come be my villain.
please, I beg of you, be cruel to me.
