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the words you spat at me are now burned into my bones, seared into the flesh like a piece of branded cattle. each movement, each ghost pain — a constant reminder of when you said you loved me, but actually wanted me dead.

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— glitter escapes the tips of elegant fingers, turning everything you do into gold

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sing me a song about something that makes your heart flutter. sing to me the colors of your life — in words, foreign to bruised ears. colors of blue coat your irises as you tell me of the tragedies before me. your curiosity was innocent, at first, but soon — you became obsessed with something i cannot change. myself. but you wanted me different, lighter; it started with just a mere suggestion. but soon became a suffocation. you showed me your colors and i chose to be colorblind :: but did i ask for this? sing to me the taste of your favorite food. each note describing an ingredient. your song would be one of anger, insecurity, and vanity. what is it like to stare at your dorian gray painting, each day? watching as you fade into just shattered glass and dust?

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rachael-isms

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rain drops against the windshield in the dead of night. i stare at the illuminated windows on the second floor. you have a container home; shaped like a rectangle going all the way back. i felt suffocated in that house, against those walls.

my heart is beating so fast, because i know you’re in there, whispering about me. i know you’re in there, taking hits from the weed that i bought you because you were too lazy to get it yourself.

i know you are in there because you cannot keep your hands to yourself. shadows dance against the empty walls of the second floor.

today is your birthday; the date forever lives on in my head - though, i am living my life as if you were dead. you started as a stranger and ended as a stranger to me, with bloody knuckles and venom under your tongue.

you stole things that no one would notice; my voice, my words, my oxygen with a coarse hand around my neck — blue eyes, angry lips; you smell like them and whisper her lies in the ears of anyone who will listen to your sad swan song.

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“what do you like about me?” i question; my eyes tracing his frame as he sits across from me. broad shoulders, a soft smirk at the corner of his mouth, “what do you mean?”

candle light dances between us, separated by the dressings of the restaurants decorum. earthy tones comforted me as i took a breath and smiled toward him, “i mean, what do you like about me? you keep saying, ‘i love you. i’m in love with you’.” dimples permanently etched into my cheeks as i look all around, before looking into his eyes.

blue like the ocean at a californian sunrise. silence sat between us for a moment before he opens his mouth and speaks. the words fall to the ground in front of me and i can’t help but admit to myself that i loved him too.

“i love you because you are the best person i know, rachael. you’re my best friend and all i want to do is love you until you feel whole again. i want to keep you safe and i want you to love me, too.” a breath. “there isn’t a single thing i would change about you. well, except that attitude, maybe,” he chuckled out, unable to keep a straight face.

fuck, i really did love him.

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it is as if i am sitting in your living room still. i can still smell the fresh paint of helping jessie touch up the walls because she couldn’t be held accountable for anything. looking back, i realize a lot of shit that happened was constructed by her and her only.

her words echo against the inside of my skull and all i can do is open my mouth and scream - but nothing comes out.

i’m in a dream, but i can’t shake it. i remember this day, this moment. the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention as i see you sauntering down the steps. rage radiated from you and i realize i should have left the second you came down the steps.

maybe this all could have been avoided. or maybe it was inevitable. pain is pain, regardless of situation or happenstance.

i’m told a symptom of post traumatic stress is the dreams. the way they make you relive the worst moments of your life. i am just a pawn to you and everyone in your life, forced to play the role once again in my dreams. forced to clean up after your messes, after your episodes.

“please calm down, let’s just talk about this,” i heard myself say as i moved toward the couch, desperate to calm you. desperate to understand why you were always so fucking angry.

when did you realize that you hated me? when was the moment you realized that you wanted me dead -

i sat down, calm and collected as i always did. i wanted to make you feel better; i wanted to offer solace - i wanted to give you a place to fall when the words fell from your zipped lips.

but your words were cruel and you were too far gone.

feet filled with lead, i was unable to move as you trudged over. was i scared or proud — i wasn’t so sure. “just talk to me,” i begged, still unable to move. my phone in my hand, but now in yours and me on the floor.

i felt the sting of the phone tossed at my leg before your relentless kicks.

one two three.

i can’t tell you what you screamed at me other than the typical words spat at me. this memories shifts into a jackson pollock as you slapped me across the kitchen until i could get away. but not for long.

hot hands, hot breaths - hand around my mouth and another pinning me down with your weight.

punches to the temple. stars in the black of my vision as i squeeze my eyes shut. i just want to be somewhere else. anywhere but here. does it make me a bad person because i dont want to fight for this love anymore? is it okay to not want to fight for the love of the person who is spitting poison into your eyes as you scream for help?

“i hate you”

“you’re so fucking stupid”

“you asked for this”

“what are you gonna do? you gonna cry? gonna walk away? DO IT!”

and then silence ::: if i knew what was good for me

i remember the short, controlled breaths. the way that i had to hold in the sobs and just remain still. silence. less - in every aspect of the word. small.. i needed to be smaller.

i wanted to shrink down into the size of an ant and disappear into the big bad world all by myself. because anything was better than what this had become, what we had become.

you made me sit in that room, to reflect on what i had done. i remember staring at the television - though, i can’t recall what was on the tv because all i could bare to think was: how was i going to make it out of here?  i then realized i was only left to sit, stew, seep like a tea bag in hot water —

to allow time for my reddened cheeks to cool back to their normal color. to allow time for the tear stains to dry that had ran from eyes to my neck. to allow time for you to sit on your phone, across the room, and ignore my very existence.

can i leave now? the words leave my mouth as i see the credits of whatever you were watching now plastered on the television. itching to leave, but really wanting to sink into a hole so deep that no one would ever find me.

something in me was broken that day. i was taught to fight for the things you love, the people you love - because that is what you did. though, they didn’t teach us when fighting wasn’t enough anymore, what do you do then?

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— she is impossible to figure out, but hard to forget.

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you have a way of slithering into my life without my consent. into conversations, in the people i don’t know, in my dreams. it’s like being stuck in a dream, paralyzed.

i can’t move, i can’t cry out, i just have to survive with you. in my head.

i tried so hard after i left to forget the way you said my name when you were angry. and the ugly scent of regret and sandalwood reminds me of you.

you took all my dreams and allowed someone else to act them out for you because even a nobody is a better somebody than me.

dripping faucets and cocaine left on the granite countertops. you’ll do anything to forget yourself, even for just a moment, won’t you?

i sat down to forget the memories of you, but realized we had no memories - only nightmares.

i hope you forget the kind words i fed you with a silver spoon all those years i was with you. i lied.

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the clouds are sleeping, so we need to be quiet, okay, roo? her soft hand pulls back the blankets that covered me during that winter night. snow glistened against the window panes and i can still remember the smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

we need to set these out before santa gets here, she ushers me toward the step stool in the kitchen. grab a few cookies and put them on this plate.

i remember the clang of the ceramic plate against the island as she set it down. it was a light blue color; years of abuse from knives and forks of relentless children. just a couple and then we will get the glass, her voice was so soft.

her eyes were so blue, it felt like i was drowning. frozen in space and time, i come back to this moment, often.

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— skin, the color of alabaster, soft against stain sheets. dusk turns to dawn; and i am reminded every single night when i dream, that i was once yours and you were once mine.