This is what I find

when I peek into the windows of what we have done to each other.


Souls eating each other up to survive and thrive,

and I can honestly tell you I would not be alive,

if you didn’t throw me into these walls that I’m staring at,

because with every bone that cracked I grew another bone of contention,

that I will one day pick with you. I will be whole again.

“I will come back to ruin you”

I say to myself everyday, when I stare into these shelves,

empty, because our memories are too sour,

too full of vinegar to hold a portrait of our faces together.

These shelves reek of the life we swore to have but worked to destroy,

systematically, painfully, flippantly, ignoring each others screams,

both inside and outside our heads,

loud and soft and deafening and silent,

and I do believe that we are both tyrants.


What have we done?

What world did we create that requires weapons to outlive?

What landmines did we scatter on the floor of our dreams and if I woke up now would I hold in my screams?

I can’t remember what went wrong or how or why.

I can’t remember when we both started wishing the other would die.

I’ve been trying but I can’t be bothered anymore.

To be honest I think I just grew tired of wanting you to a point where it was consuming me whole.

That’s what we did to each other – we consumed, we consumed, we consumed like a tumour,

and we cut us at the knees hoping the cancer would stop spreading but it didn’t,

it wouldn’t,

it stayed on in me while you cut away cancer-free,

looking around for another life to consume.


But I will come back to ruin you, I promise myself.

I will crush the spirit that remained of you,

that spark that you fanned eagerly with the same hands that blew out mine.

I will make up my being by picking yours apart,

and piece-by-piece I will resurrect right before your eyes,

before I pick them up too.

I will be whole again by making a hole in you.


Because you once loved me,

now I will love you.

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