This heart
Aches when words
Of venom shoot through it.
Silence saunters in,
It makes half of me
Twist into a complex labyrinth.
You think, “but she’s usually
An angel. Mostly kind and polite.”
I am also human.
Daggers draw blood
And words
When used to cut
Into soft flesh
Can kill.
Instead of dying,
I fight back.
Armed with an arsenal
Of my own,
Each moment in regaining
My strength will cause
Me to empty a chamber.
I assure you…
You
Don’t
Want
That kind of death.
Strength is uncommon
Now
It manifests in
Presumptuous ways, claiming
To feed your tortured soul
Yet you lose inches
Of a dying heart
To an ill-fated diagnosis
That the world’s most
Renown devotees of medicine
Pencil in on a chart
You become the medical
Term
Instead of a human being
You become the thing
Fading
Before them, but they
Still think you are alive.
You haven’t been
In years.
Damon has his hands full. Last night consisted of tossing and turning uncontrollably. Linda refused him their bed. Another heated argument landed him a night on the couch. A common theme in their home. He has lost his sense of self. He doesn’t know who he is and cannot remember who he was. Since the voices entered his head, he was changing.
He carries a bowl of cereal, a mug of coffee, and the weight of his unforgiving heart on his shoulders. He struggles as he makes his way to the family room. Today, he will apologize.
Linda is combing her dully colored hair. Damon said the highlights looked like they were torturing her scalp. She’d spent three hours and $85.00 at the salon, yearning for perfection.
“Everything I do, I do for him.”
She mumbles excuses for her reactionary behavior while glancing at her tired reflection in the mirror. She belittled Damon for his momentary outbursts, unwilling to see his progress. Today, she will end the suffering.
The hardwood floors of their Victorian home creak under the pressure of heavy feet. Both of them pace in place, struggling to keep their anger sealed. Their therapist advised in the last session, “Let go of what does not matter. Embrace what does.” The walls whisper sound advice, in the frozen foyer, Damon hears them:
“Love or lose. Win no more.”
He races up the stairs, bursts into their bedroom, and lunges towards his wife. He catches her moments before she kills herself.
This is the first time the voices in his head are right.
A Cornered Gurl 
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