I’m not colorblind.

I swear.

But after you left, the world lost its colors.

Now, it’s just like you: obscure.

Maybe that’s why I prefer the universe after sunset nowadays, drained of its pigment. At least then it’s truly uncolored.

Strange, isn’t it? People are so intimidated by darkness. They’re frightened of the unknown, of oblivion, of monsters on the prowl.

After you left that fear lost its grip on me. I realized the only monstrosity out to get me was you.

You still flicker around in the shadows.

I see your eyes.

Everywhere.

They bore into my skull from brick walls and shallow puddles.

On rainy nights I feel your breath, heavy on my collarbone.

Every godforsaken promise made and said, I still hear.

The intensity with which you kissed me with I can still feel. Dammit, you’ve left the stain of your lipstick on my heart.

Stop acting like you care. Stop calling me. Stop “checking up” on me. Stop asking how I’ve been.

F*** you, you already know.

I’m sure you’ve heard from your “friends” of my condition. Those girls you’d stab to death for pieces of green paper.

What they don’t know is you haunt my dreams. Over and over again I see our ending.

You gave me hollow excuses. Lies. As if I wouldn’t know better.

Then you wished me health. Happiness.

You wished me well.

What a load of bullshit, I wish you hell. I wish you a slow, agonizing death, your body, torn to pieces.

I know you like to hover around so even after death you’d wander the world. Eyes here, lungs there, heart… not found.

You never had one to begin with.

Makes me wonder why I ever loved you.