A letter

Dear memory,

Rapid succession of images fall right into the back of my head, pretending I’m not there. I get to watch the highs and lows of a lifetime, rooted into the deep and bitter source of my emotions, an ever growing cloak of distress. Only this is bathed in the blood of anyone who has ever laid eyes on me, dripping down to my fingers that I, even with all the evidence, deny what’s happened and deny that I’ve ever been guilty and deny the source of all this evil, yet at the top of my worries, far where my eyes can barely see, the fine tone of your skin shines at my face and your eyes remain closed as you rest upon my head. The images stop.

You keep your blood to yourself, only ever giving some to anyone but me. I try to forget this happens but your texts are ruthless and you seem to be in every corner. Whatever happened here is ancient story but the vivid memory stands tall in these walls, ironic isn’t it? And as if the tides weren’t cold enough I get to meet with your latest sweetheart every now and then. I can only say his despicable look disgusts me to the very soul, weary eyes, incompetent hands, a voice I’d enjoy stabbing, and an age far above mine. He’s better though, he gets to enjoy the fine pleasures of your thighs while I sit here waiting to rot.

But if the night is destined to die so am I, and the terrors it holds will catch me sometime. The moon strikes back to me as the minutes go by. Your scent is almost a ghost by now but I could touch it if I wanted. This text is pointless and by now has become annoying. You thought me to love, now you introduced me to hate, and I hate very much.

It’s not a secret that my affliction is set a top jealousy. I’ll hurt him whenever the chance is given and I’ll do it with a smile in my face. Until then, have a good night between his arms.

With all my love,

Kevyn

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