It isn’t the fall that kills you

My blood soaked with chemicals and burning rage
as I slammed the door hard behind me
tears went down my cheeks like a storm
flooding my brain and broken heart.
I drowned again and for the umpteenth time–
your face was the hand that kept me down under
the smoking gun that shot me down in cold blood
even when I already had the white flag risen.
And yes, maybe I was a fucking little coward
to get back up and fight again for my stupid life
to put back the choices back into my stupid hands
to erase every touch and damned memories of us
to forget that I was once such a pathetic soul
for even believing in the idea of you.

But I was afraid to admit that I’d foreseen it before
I knew of the impending doom that was coming
you had me chained behind an invisible prison
that now I realised only existed in my mind.
I knew that one day, your face would hurt me
break me so fucking hard that might wish even to die
sucking the air and life out of me ever so gladly
without a single drop of true remorse.
Despite all that, I only have myself to blame
I hid the bruises and damages in my ribcage
but I forgot it showed up on my skins and in my head
engraved forever as a painful reminder
of my own making.

I think. I feel. I write. Welcome to my reality.
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