tell him that it all went wrong. tell him that i feel horrible for wishing that he was never born. tell him that it wasn't my fault, but i was so blinded by him that i was willing to lay down the rest of my life for all the trouble that he caused me. tell him that every time i see his face, i get shivers. tell him that every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like an air raid siren. tell him that i can't walk through the mall without seeing pants that he would wear, shirts that he would buy, shoes that he would swap with mine. tell him that i don't even miss him. that if i had the chance, i would smash my own skull against the concrete to get the memory of him out of my mind. tell him that he wasn't the reason why, that he doesn't even get the privilege of that title. tell him that he found me in a hole, that he kicked me to the ground, and he ruined the image of myself that i had built, and he burned down bridges that i never had the chance to cross. tell him that i don't even remember him. tell him that yeah, you know what, maybe it really was my fault. tell him that the goods and the bads blurred my vision until i couldn't recall if it was me or you who left the yellowing bruises on my arms. tell him that he never hit me. tell him that i wish he did.
YOU ARE READING
Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
