My love left me alone to scream in pain, and he did not care. The world spun without him, and everyone's pain combined could not compare to mine. My insides stung, my brain felt like mud, my blood was thick and thin with confusion, sickness, and worry. My heart felt like it was no longer beating, even though I could hear it. My skin felt like ice on the inside, the only way I could tell that I wasn't dead was to touch it, the touch was warm. My breathing was strong and harsh, like I had been running in the cold for hours. My thoughts were fuzzy and dreamlike. None of this compared to the pain I felt when I thought you were never returning. My emotions were all I had inside the hallow walls of my questionable prison. Taken away and tested. They all forgot to ask the right questions, so I lied. They tried to see who I was, but when she's a secret, even to me, and they're hearing a different and difficult story, they continue to be displeased, and stick more needles in me. I looked away, into the skies and saw the Gods and Goddesses holding the stitch in their sides from laughter. Please break into the seem less daze as you stared at my misplaced broken pieces. I laid awake for centuries trying to guess my memories, and forget the misunderstandings, that were somehow placed one more than the other. I tried to guess the riddles you left me in, and lie about the truth, because that is what I do. The pain, the glory of it all, allowed me to be strong when more pain befell me. For hours, for days, I laid awake in a dizzy, daydream wondering if you were coming to get me, to take me away from here, and allow me your love. Days came and went and dreams were spent, and you did not come. You forgot me, in my misery, and left me to die. But I wouldn't give up that easily, I did not give in. Somewhere amid the fairy telling, someone came for me. And allowed me sanctuary, I screamed in disbelief, and in pain. They were there and you were not. This knowing killed my insides, so I killed them while
they slept, then came for you.


A lonely night, you were walking and thinking of a thoughtful sight, you saw me. Insanity, may have taken me, grace might have left me, but somehow beauty seemed to remain. You wished to scream, you knew why I was there, but you stood silently transfixed, and awaited the punishment. The sight of you took my breath away, and everything I felt, left, seeped into one another and vanished. I stare at you for moments that felt like hours, and you stared back in relief. Pain stretched across your face, cold with worry, and fear lit your eyes, this terror that hit you, made my brain fuzz, like soda, with the terrible thought that I was worse than you. The scream I let out, that echoed off the brick houses to each side of us, was horrific. You shook with shock and still await some form of punishment that my presence presented. But it did not come, like you, it would not come, not from me. At that moment, with horror in your eyes and deep frantic pain in all of your motions, I allowed myself to turn to finally leave you, because you did not care. Not about me, and I should not make you. When my back was turned you came after me. This move was unexpected. So I let you. It made me happy that you were curious about my movements. You asked me to slow my pace, and I did. You asked me to turn and face you, and I did. Your beautiful eyes looked in mine and were locked. In some small way, I knew what was coming, and sadly I wanted it. You whispered words that will not leave my brain even after my demise, "I love you too." Tears raced down my face after one another, even before you stabbed me in the side. Blood was everywhere, and I knew I should have already been dead. You began to pace because something hit you, and the feeling took you by surprise, you worried that I would die. I asked, "why had you killed me?" Your reply was painful, "Because I can," and that was it. Because you could, you left me in an insane asylum, you taught me to be safe from never being with me. And you killed me long before you let me bleed out in the middle of the old, damp, dark, deserted street. I looked up, my last breath about to leave me and again you asked an oblivious question, "why aren't you dead?" I wanted to laugh, but knew that what was left in me was only there to answer you, "Because you meant everything, and they wanted you to see my love in the form of blood." And I was dead, hours had passed and my blood was everywhere, the ground was no longer black bricked, but scarlet. He stood at my side, his clothes were covered in the same beautiful, misunderstood color. My words, the words they allowed me to utter in the silence, in the distance, in my last moment of existence, touched him, even though he had no idea what they meant. Even though he no longer had to care because it no longer would bring me back, he realized that he did love me, and in that instant it took, he realized what pain I was in, and what longing carried me to him, and he wished for death, like I had, wished for it but he was unable to die. Horror and sadness crushed his insides, like they had done to me. He reached out and touched my cold, soft, dead face, and tears hit my skin, they were his. He tried to bring me back, but I was where he could not retrieve me, I was not in Heaven nor in Hell, I stood beside him in ghostly form. To finally tell some kind of truth in the story, he wished for me to return. Hours raced by as he cried silently over my dead, cold body, until thoughts finally returned to him, and told him to stand in the cold, snowing twilight. He walked slowly and reluctantly away, looking back every so often, no matter how far he got, at his mistake, at his beautiful dead, misplaced, fairy tale, mistake. At his love. No sirens were heard even after he called the police, because in all truth, in the painful truth, even to the world I had not mattered nor did I after I was dead. At the end, they looked down no longer laughing and gave punishment, it was an eternal life after mine.