Better

remember when you told me you were going to be there for me even if the moon fell and crashed into earth? you wouldn’t leave me in this dystopia and if we were doomed to die, we’d die together. I believed you, and I trusted every single word just as much as how you worshipped each and every inch of my supple skin.

you were a traffic light and I, a truck. you guided each lost soul with your gentle signals safely over to the other side. so why me? why did you deliberately guide me to collide head on into the oncoming traffic to splatter my insides onto the cold unforgiving streets and then left me to bleed out on the inhospitable condemning road? was it funny to send all of my nerves on a journey to the uncharted territories of hell and set me on a searing inferno, scorching everything to be nothing more than a pile of ashes? I felt waves of pain I’d never hope for anybody to feel, and most importantly, you. you continued working your way throughout the traffic as I lay there staring into the sky in an ocean of my own blood thinking what ever went wrong, yet I always believed it would get better.

you were a raintree and I, a crow. you claimed to be there for me, waiting to catch me if I ever lost the aerial battle and one fine day, I finally felt that my wings were far too tired to carry on soaring through the skies. I fell down headfirst but confident you would catch me like you said you would. with tired eyes, a tired mind and a tired soul, I closed my eyes as I felt the trail of wind whisk through my sable feathers, cracking a smile as I could finally return by your side. I fell right into your embrace, yet you couldn’t break my fall. I fell right through the thick branches and what ensued left me in a bloodied mess, showing you the ugliest parts of me. you claimed that you would catch me, and you did; you tried, but you didn’t try hard enough. so here I was, lying face flat on the ground as maggots crawled out of my unsightly foul-smelling carcass. it hurts, yet it does not hurt as much as the unforgiving looks of scorn and disdain from you, and I still foolishly believed that it would get better.

you were my loved one and I, your plaything. you trailed your fingertips up to discover the location of every crease and crack of my body as I stared into a distant poster of Joy Division in shreds at the back of what you claimed to be your personal sanctuary surrounded by a pile of beer bottles we had taken swigs from earlier in the night. we slow danced into the night in the roofless complex under the soft welcoming embrace of the gentle moonlight as I learned the deepest darkest secrets about you. maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it wasn’t, but either way you opened up your entirety to me: a plaything; a tool. I felt a rush of emotions: ecstasy, excitement, regret and despondency but most of all, I felt relief. this would all end soon, and things would finally get better.

 

wouldn’t it?

via Daily Prompt: Better