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by Violet

It takes so little to ruin a person. All you have to do is know where it hurts. Pain doesn’t always dissipate with time, only if you’re lucky. Not all of us are blessed with the ability to forget, some like to hold onto the past, because it’s the only part left that means something. Some like to think it might come back one day, wishful thinking is the only thing holding them together.

There is a fire and a dullness in drunks, they know they burn everything around them so they try to drown themselves. If you’re the reason that everyone who loves you is constantly hurting, you do your best to kill what hurts. Being dead can be easier than being sober. Letting things break is always easier than fixing them. Breaking ourselves is easier than putting it back together. People rarely take responsible for the mistakes that matter. We won’t even own up to the little things, those small white lies we tell to make life easier slowly become our reality, eating away at what’s left, crooked pieces and emptiness.

There is an anger and sadness in him, you mistake regret for remorse. You feel obligated to love him because no one else would, not if they knew the truth. You are the only good part of him left, he made you for worship. Then comes the time to collect, you lose yourself in the glitter and lights, the magical life, the envy of your peers. He builds you up so high you don’t dare to fall. You know you’d break into a million pieces and he wouldn’t stay to pick them up, he lacks the patience.

There is a loneliness in his company. No one remembers how to feel when the chemicals wear off. Your eyes glaze over each other at dawn and you forget how to talk, are we still supposed to be nice? There is a meanness to him, and you try to dull his sharp edges with easy comfort, only to end up bloody. There is a darkness to him, the wrath of a narcissist. I keep telling you darling, this story won’t have a happy ending.

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