the mind's recesses

Little Voice

It was only a little tiff.

A tiff? Who even says that?

A little tiff between my friend and I.

Just something small, insignificant,
Where you try to be reasonable
And diffuse tension.

You're never reasonable.

It was only a small comment.
It didn't mean much - just said
In the heat of the moment,
As is usually the case.

"You're so stubborn."

It's a funny kind of sting:
The kind that I try to ignore,
But it keeps itching at me
And pricking needles in my head.

You are stubborn, though.

I brush it off, thinking
It isn't that important.

But, for some reason, it sticks.
It sticks for the whole day.
I don't want to make a fuss -

And yet you do anyway.
Because it's you, isn't it?

So when I get home,
(Tired, a bit grouchy, as always),
And I find nothing to do,
I go back to that comment.

Over the day,
My subconscious had taken time
To etch that thought into my head.

It isn't going any time soon,
So I sit and contemplate it.

What a drama queen.

How weird: the transition between
'Look at that flaw' and
'Look at all your flaws',
Whether they're true or not.

They are definitely true.
Because it's you.

They're probably true,
And I'm suddenly overwhelmed with
Every single thing that's wrong
With me.

From what I've done,
To what I say -
What I am.

There's so many faults in my portrait.

Jesus, do you ever shut up?

Why can't I ever shut up?

I suppose it's why everyone
Hates me so much.
How pathetic is that thought?

It's the first true thing you've said.

It's a funny kind of drowning:
The kind where you swallow
Too much pain and your lungs
Kick out from beneath you,
So that you choke and gasp
And scrabble around for air.

I didn't realise I could hate someone
This fucking much.

I realised. I knew it from the start.

And when it's over -

You know it's never over -

I sit there, feeling ashamed,
Because what kind of person
Gets hurt by a stupid comment
Like that?

I'll be fine.
Besides,
It was only a little tiff.

A tiff? Who even says that?