Why do these thoughts haunt me?
At the most random times, from my inner sea they rise–thoughts of ages past when gleaming razor blades and bleeding wrists were what I considered to get away and stop the pain of a love gone buck wild behind barbed wire;
If it hadn’t been for a sick, two-faced binky, and a gutter lover as lustful and pain-ridden as I–oh, and let’s not forget the wonderful pills, my beloved Scoobie Snacks, they were blessings that threw my bothersome emotions in a trash can–I dont think I would have mentally survived, and my file would have in the Tender Care Unit been reviewed by cynical nurses’ eyes…
Why do these memories follow me?
When vulnerability or hurt overwhelm me, I remember the times I sat on the floor of my cell and cried, my hands trying to tear out my hair to ease the pounding pressure in my head, when the love of my life abandoned me in a place of despair, and a cold eyelash she wouldn’t bat if our babysitters announced me dead…
Why does the fact that she always lied and never cared pursue me like a bat out of hell, only to cause a scare and ruin my present love affairs?
Let me be! The past does not own me!
But it holds me like a lover, oh so gently, to try and keep me, ever so deceptively, from my future dream of a loving family…
At the strangest times, I ache to see her frosty eyes, gazing at me across the planes of time, and I remember that her presence was like a human blizzard by my side–the sunshine she would try to force through the cold storm that, when it came to me at least, in her heart brewed, but her sincere tender touches were embarrassingly few–and those moments made me wonder why I endured the silent undercurrent of emotional abuse…like she always used to say, I was a Mafia wife in the make…
But, I know why I stood the test of time, and that’s because I saw the broken beauty that was in need, and tried to save that golden part of her she couldn’t even see…but she dragged me down, almost ruined me, and turned this Beauty into a Beast, so that, when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was her face staring back at me…
Haunted by memories of how miserable love made me…those haunting thoughts led me to promiscuity, so love wouldn’t again like a fiddle play me…I didnt want to again hear Devotion’s symphony of agony so dear…
Standing for hours by the window, eyes glued to the reception door, waiting for my love to walk back into my life, not knowing that the months ahead held nothing but ugliness, heartbreak, and dramatic strife…how could I think, once upon a time, this woman would be my wife?
The horror of having to realize the one you love is not what they seem–
How could you pretend I didnt exist on Christmas, and force me to watch you and your real wife kiss hands and touch?
Day in and day out, on my stomping grounds, you forced me to see you show her the love you could never show me–years ago, when I pressed my ear to your chest and said, “Some people dont realize everyone has a heart that can feel and break,” I didnt know such a cruel heart beat within your breast that day…
Haunted. The rumors of you two screwing and bad-mouthing me, her name tatted on your side for all the world to see, when all I could get was a lousy lock and key of which you made a mockery, instigating lies and looks of pity, the trash talk I heard from those who dont know I was the victim of a woman, who to dance with the Devil had given up her chance to have Heaven…
Haunted. Branded on my flesh, a tattooed reminder to keep my love in check;
“L’ho provato sulla mia pelle”–your favorite quote, isnt that what you said?
Haunted. What would things be like today if up north we had stayed, if, when I was told you no longer called, I had given up my faith? What if I had held steady and not surrendered to my injured pride by retaliating in another woman’s bed, then lied and lied and lied?
All I know is I failed you too, and that haunts me more than all the other truths…
Haunted I am, most definitely yes–but thank you, dear God, that I’m no longer possessed…
