Her Charmed Life

I sink into the mattress so deeply, I feel I’ll never get out of the blankets again. The memory foam heats from my body, the sheets dampen from the sweat, my hair blinds me. My heart is racing and I’m disoriented, hands flailing to push against your thin chest. My legs are tangled in the blankets, squeezing together, pushing your thigh away from me. The dog yelps, I fully awaken. The cycle repeats. 

I try to move on. I can’t. I can’t shake it. I keep this grief with me. A beloved blanket of silken barbed wire. It comforts me. It’s easy to hold onto the pain. If I keep it, I have a place to aim my hatred. My memory of soft spoken no’s and hesitantly whispered it’ll be okay’s, pulls me down. I’m heavy from it, so heavy. The heaviness is something I can shoulder on though, I turn the weight into anger. Anger is something I can use. I wildly point the red arrow head at anyone who comes too near to my beloved blood soaked shroud. God, protect whoever tries to help me.

I need some fucking rest. I need to sleep off this mood, this memory, this event, this person. How do you sleep? How do you lay your head down and not get swallowed up like I do? I mean you were there too, surely you have some kind of feelings about it all. Right? I want to rage, I want to yell and scream and cry and pout. I want everyone else to do it too. I want them to hate you the way I do. Do you know what kind of man you are? Do you know what you did to me? Not just what you did then, but what you do now? Do you know how you haunt me? Your fingers bruised my skin in places that are now worshipped. Your saliva burned my neck in places that are now saturated with love and care. Your carelessly tossed, sopping wet towel on my floor curated a mold that has blossomed into a full blown infection. My mind is fussy with it. Does the flavor of my breath still bloom over your tongue, just like the spores that cover mine? Does the piece of stolen soul look good on your bedpost?

I’m tired of being hard to love. I know it’s exhausting. I know it’s rewarding. Does the burden of my heavy heart get old? How do I erase the hurts that make me like this? I don’t want to be cold when I’m truly so warm and inviting. I don’t want to feel like I’m tricking someone into accepting me. How do I sleep so soundly in one’s arms, while dreaming of you? It must be seen as clear as day on my skin. All those bruises and burns hurt so badly, surely everyone else can see them. Maybe I can see the doctor, get fixed up and be good as new.

This body was my home. After you, I can’t recognize it.