(On the Outs) With(Out) You.

Disposition irrelevant. Thoughts echo throughout chasm and cause endless decay.

The spring of hope holds only an acrid stench and caustic liquid. Hope=decay. Drink deep and feel the cold burn of it all.

Losing myself in a chaotic near-reenactment of past events. History and motion are circular.

Spin spin spin spin. Judgment call is a failure, but I should have known in the first place.

This isn't fair though. Over and over and over and on and on and on and ON.

Yes, these words have an all new meaning. Even if it is all the same. Though this time, I was the fashion. I was the shiny trinket, the bauble dangling from your necklace, until you grew tired of me and tossed me aside. Unsurprising.

I am not a fashion. I am not fleeting away. I will NOT fleet away. You can't just run away and pretend I didn't happen, that we didn't happen, that none of this happened.

It's not that fucking simple. Regardless of the why, even though it is important. Regardless of that, you have done something no one else has ever done. You've hurt me in a way I've never felt before, and that deed shall not go unpunished, nor shall it go unforgotten. There was no mistake here, your actions, your words, you didn't say them by accident, and I cannot forget that. I will not forget that. This wire around my wrist reminds me, ever tighter. That's why it's there in the first place.

No sympathy, no empathy. But no apathy, either, because I do care. I. DO. CARE. I did care about you, and I still do, no matter how much you hurt me. But this is different. This is something scary and beautiful. My scale has been tipped, and you're not going to reset these balances. No one will. I don't want them reset, not quite yet. I want to take hold of this lack of balance, and to use it to my advantage. Use it to destroy that which, in any normal situation, I wouldn't be able to.

You want to find yourself? I'll show you the pieces you don't want to see, the pieces your stupid fucking therapist probably doesn't think are 'appropriate' or 'conducive to a meaningful existence', or whatever other fucking jargon she may throw at you.

I'll show you how capable of making someone hurt you are. I'll show you what a horrible person you can be, because you've already shown me. So I think I should return the favor.

And I'll do it all in the nicest way possible. It'd be romantic, if my intentions weren't entirely the opposite.

Of course I still want you; it's too soon not to. But that doesn't mean I can't hurt you. That doesn't mean I can't get my piece of revenge.

I hope I'm as right as I think I am about all of this. I hope you're still with him, I hope your parents don't know, I hope you were as foolish in all of this as I'm led to believe.

Because that means I can make it crash down on top of you that much harder.

I'm not ok, by any stretch of the imagination. And I won't be, for a very long time. The trust I had in you, the only trust I'd really invested in anyone in SUCH a long time, has been dashed to bits. Do you have any idea how long it's going to take me to be able to trust someone like that again? To be able to open up like I did to you?

Some would say this is all overreacting, because we weren't 'together' for that long. But this extends beyond our short relationship--this started as friendship, as a very close friendship. And you ruined that, too. And that's what hurts so much. You weren't someone I'd just met. You were someone I'd known long enough that I thought I actually knew you. And oh, how wrong I was. Incorrect, sir.


This wire around my wrist signifies more than you or anyone else could possibly understand. More than even I understand, I think.


I just want you to remember what you did to me. And not in that fleeting form you seem to recall everything else--I want this to sting. When you wake up in the morning I want you to think about it, and I want it to hurt. Before you fall asleep at night, I want you to remember it, and be haunted by it.

Every time I think about what you've done to me, and how much it affects me, I feel sick. Because I shouldn't have ever let you get this close in the first place. I should have known right from the start. I should have been able to make the connection that if you could do it once, you could do it again, only to me. I don't know why I thought I was so special, so different.

But I am different in that I realize what has occurred, regardless of the why; I know that we are no more, and I know how much you've hurt me. And for once, I know, without a doubt, that I did absolutely NOTHING wrong, other than the initial mistake of trusting you. I did nothing to warrant this behavior, this treatment.

At least I have that.

And all these memories. Every inch of my room, plagued by phantoms of you. Hairpins and letters. My bed, stained with your presence. Sometimes I can still feel you here. And it hurts. Oh how it hurts.

And still I haven't shed a tear. I think I'm holding it back subconsciously, waiting until I see you, so you can understand the full effect of what you've done.

And I will see you.


The stars have been destroyed.
There's cracks in the earth, little memories, little ghosts of your presence.

Hope equals decay. And so now I hope for nothing.

Nothing is the only thing without any movement. And without movement, there can be no backpedaling, there can be no mistakes, nor rewards.

I used to fear stagnancy, but now I think I embrace it.

I am in stasis.
I am imperfect, and thus I shall always remain.
I am full of mistakes and messes and riddled with wholes, and thus I shall always remain.

I am full of love for you.

And unfortunately


Thus I shall always remain.