Egyptianqt79

Intoxication

If I hadve known it would've hurt this bad

would I have willingly inhaled my last breath of fresh air before it was polluted with the most dangerous toxin of them all?

Im suffocating on the memories,

I choke on the thought of his name,

I gasp for air when I see him moving on,

when I see him breathing with ease.

If i hadve known my life would never be the same again,

I wouldve appreciated the sting of the last salted summer breeze as it grazed across my sunburned cheeks,

the oceans gentle tide tickling the arches of my feet with its foamy residue

carrying my thoughts in and out,

eyes closed,

my body swaying with the once serene crashing of the hostile waves,

echoing from a distant place on the other side of tomorrow.

I hold onto that moment.

A time before i realized the foam was spawned from a dangerous high that had reached its inevitable turning point,

breaking into its separation.

It was "her" escaping long enough to beg for release

grasping at my feet

fighting to get away from the endless cycle,

bubbles...suffocating, before the compelling ocean pulled her back in again.

Wild and vengeful never showing any sign of remorse. 

She was nothing but a memory without him.

Her trust committed suicide of her individualism,

leaving her only alive in his reality.

I used to hear the ocean call my name, before that day.

Now I can't unsee her agony.

 

I used to admire the seagulls' cry,

bragging of the treasures they scavenged through out the day.

thieves of easy targets,

preying on the poorly planned picnics of the love dazed couples.

The seagulls took advantage knowing  eating was never the couple's intention.

the wind would bury their meal in the sand,

a measurement to keep track of time lost in love,

had the seagulls allowed it,

but the seagulls stoled more than they knew

now the moment is eternally trapped in their atrocious call

suffocating within the breeze that balances their bodies effortlessly.

 

I would have enjoyed one more day of warmth.

I remember feeling the color gold early in the mornings,

whispering through my blinds,

"wake up happy before you never know this feeling again"

sweet dreams only lured me back into their clutches.

they promised exaggeration to my favorite experiences. 

the reason my eyes don't close anymore, until they lose the battle with sleep.

Exhausted minds don't dream.

Just a void, death, a place my heart longs to be.

my bed used to envelope me in warmth

now it is desolate,

empty,

cold, constricting my chest,

suffocating me while I reach for something that I am trying to forget.

 

I can't let go of this rope,

but I don't want to hang on anymore

I swing around aimlessly looking for grounding that existed once when I was full of life

I see him watching me,

impatiently waiting for me to give into death,

My existence is a chore he doesn't have time for anymore.

tying the rope around my neck and pushing me over the peak of our journey

insures definite loss of any love he may have accidently inhaled,

but he's really good at holding his breath.

 

I use my last moments trying to remember a time I wasn't just a regret in someone else's mind.

but all i find are shadows under the illuminated illusions of a love i imagined

I find temporary comfort in the noose as it ceases my circulation,

it causes my heart to flutter the same way it did when I would go to my safe place,

his arm pulling me into my pillow,

his chest...

 

this noose,

 

only the heartbeat throbbing in my ears isn't yours this time.

it resembles shattered pieces of glass chalk,

scratching punishing repetitions into a blackboard  that my stubborness refuses to accept.

"he doesnt love you  he doesnt love you  he doesnt love you"

even then,  I feel your kiss on my forehead while i crave your reassuring words that I know are lies of expectations I wish I didn't  need

 

If I hadve knew that this would hurt this bad, would I have have inhaled his love?knowing it would be my last breath?

 

Yes, in every possible version of me that exists in the cosmos

Death is the anecdote for suffering and I would give my last breath for one day of his fabricated love.



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