Where do you draw the line that seperates you from the savages? Cuz I gotta tell ya sweetheart, so far, they're looking a tad bit more humane than you ever did. They're eating goddamn animals, raw, with their bare hands... and yet they handle life with more social grace than you've managed to accrue in a lifetime. Blood dripping from their chins as they eat to survive. Somehow I find it less grotesque than the glint in your eyes as you counsel me to break free of the lost causes that just so happen to mean my sanity.
  
     And darling, I've got to tell you that all those nights spent pressed together in an effort to shut everyone out... they meant far more to me than you will ever understand. Far more than the Good Book says they should. Quit trying to act like you were the tough one, the resilient force. Calming you by stroking whatever parts of you I could reach, rubbing your hips again and again, until your breathing returned to normal. Calling me nightly when they abandoned you, presumably in order to chase their tails on the way to personal salvation. I see they've stopped chasing tails, and started chasing you. They've succeeded in telling you what you always wanted to hear.

     Congratulations, sugar, I need you too much, and for your own safety, you should drop me like a bad habit. There. Is that what you've been waiting for? An easy escape route that leaves you feeling guiltless? Sorry, babe, I may play along, but don't think for one hot minute that I'm not madder than hell. Liquid dreams flow in and out of my nostrils like the newest form of crack. Watch the pretty drops trickle down my chin, while my ever dainty tongue flickers out to catch every last remnant. Ridiculous and pointless to act like I'm something I'm not.

     Come to you with my problems, you said. One problem every 6 months, and you're more skittish than a newborn colt. Well, fuck that, I don't need you or your attempts at effortless charity. Little razorblades of affection as you insult me in the most gracious manners, leaving me lapping up the vomit you've just expelled onto the piss-soaked floor. Rollercoasters of emotion. My stomach doesn't just drop, it bails ship and drowns. Thanks for the venom, bitch.

     Vines are tangling around me, the thorns slicing up my supposedly pretty face. And all you can worry about is the blood that might stain your sheets. Your favorite band is playing on the radio, and it's telling me about a time when everything went the way it was supposed to. It's better when I bleed for you.  And while you sit there criticizing them: The Keeper of my Soul, The Heart inside my Chest... all I can think of are the demons you surround yourself with, the ones who let me burn, rather than risk scorching their fingers. I hope the love the love they give you will be enough to save you, because you've torn this apart.

     You know I'll never speak a word of this to your face. So exotic and unique as I stare into eyes that never gave me more than warm tolerance. I'm trying desperately not to think of the warm sun beating on our upturned faces as we drive through the suburbs with our windows down, listening to your obsession of the week (since the obsession of my life was off-limits). Trying not to think about the nights in the winter when we scaled neighborhoods wealthier than any we'd ever known, just to stare at the pagan stars that they'd probably leave up until February... When you said "Best" what exactly did you mean by it? Because I think we're having a major communication issue here.

     My head's aching, packed to the brim with all the things I want to tell you and never will. If you couldn't even handle hearing that I was happy, how will you ever handle hearing that you suddenly make me want to rip your veins out of your pretty, Amazonian wrists, and strangle you with them? Is it wrong that I'm smiling at that image? Nightmares could never exact the revenge that I dream up at my lowest points. Hitler would have promoted my ass in a heartbeat if I has just told him of the torture techniques I long to practice on you and all the ones who came before...

     Too many times I've just... given people my heart so they could hold it. It had a small slit in the side of it, near one of the arteries. It was slowly leaking anyways, but you got tired of waiting for it to drain, and you just slit it open, to speed up the process. I guess my good natured selflessness was only acceptable when I applied it to you. Forgive me for caring, and trying to love those who actually love me back. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was sick of trying to love those who only tolerate me? We won't quit talking because I'm too cowardly to say this all to your face... but please know this:


     the Florida sun will never shine the same.