Poem | burning bridges

I drove to the place where

I was fast given the world.

Same place where

the world was slowly

ripped from

my clenched body, when

we were solidified together,

and from the inside out

torn apart.

I am so sorry.

Our future reflected

your eyes; atom bombs

the blast radius

like falling into

dilating pupils.

And I was a student for

the never ending conversations

and the sensation of knowing

you, was everything, I wanted

to give you everything.

From our window,

the distant sound

of the train tracks

was the same as

the memory I’ve replayed

a million times over; that

of a faraway pulse,

which reminded me

so many nights,

that the world

outside still

existed.

When laying with you

and you would shake

uncontrollably,

and the sounds

you would make,

and you would

beg me to

make it

stop…

And I couldn’t help you…

A distant fear came

over me when realising

the sound of the tracks were my

only comfort back then, when

I prayed to be born without

the ability to care for someone

in so much pain,

and that I could

never be

more sorry

for what

we both

became.

And all the millions of

good things I’ve done,

yet to do; I’ll still be going

to hell for the person I became.

And I watched you become something

worse after the final surgery

that cut so much

out of you.

The bridge that overlooked

the train tracks far away

down the river; back then;

instead of dropping myself,

instead, I inhaled so much

cannabis that I no longer

knew what was

going on. I

could no

longer

feel

it.

Coming back years later,

I looked over the bridge

Heard the beating tracks

and I dropped my self

destruction.

The horror, I dropped;

of loosing everything,

again and again

and it always being

my fault, and that

I could no longer care

about anything, or

trust anyone…

I asked myself,

who was I

to continue

to treat someone

so cruelty?

The masturbation that

is my own thinking;

that has the power

to drown out everything;

all my desires, and

my desire to live…

Sleeping with people

I’ve learnt to have

so much power over

so that I never see them

as hurt as you.

I tear free from any

tender new growth

when I feel it

like before, and

I observed my own

sexuality alter,

because men will never

be in so much pain.

I don’t want this anymore…

The drugs, and the mood swings,

the job losses, the debt,

the isolation,

my body ageing,

so quickly,

the mental decline,

so quickly, and the

relief in feeling myself

die quicker.

I don’t want it anymore…

And the trauma with your mother,

knowing that your father raped you,

It was my responsibility.

And our university education

was my responsibility.

And your brother moving to the same university;

needing a job, I got him a job,

I struggled to stay in work,

but I did. It was my responsibility.

And when you use to cut yourself,

and the blood would stain the carpet,

and the hospital waiting room lights

would bleach the days between our visits

and we’d come back and you’d be stitched up;

3am, 4am, 5am and our bed stained with blood

and I would have work, class, my second job, and

you would tell me that you feared me

coming home and you’d be dead

if I didn’t listen to your trauma

Every day…

I struggled

with people because

people were so happy

and I wasn’t like them…

When we moved so far away,

my five year disassociation

from everything I loved.

But it was okay because

I loved you, and

I saw myself so large,

slowly become

so small, and

I put on so much fat, and

I hide so much of myself, and

I ate and ate and ate until

my heart world burn and

I would carry on

Growing…

womb lining

over other organs

solidifying them together

and from the inside out

tearing them apart.

I am so sorry

for your illness.

But I can no longer live my life

as sorry as I am.

…