and it was hard. it was walking through concrete. it was holding a conversation with the carpet. it was carrying water in my hands and trying to save every drop, that liquid gold, that liquid love. and i did hold it in my hands, i drained it from me and i kept my eyes down, i offered that love to you like a piece of rope and you took it, you took it and you tied me a noose. 

i told you i missed you. you said it back, and yes, tone is lost over text but i heard you. you were a neon sign in my starless night that read “i only miss you sometimes”, “i only miss you when my bed gets cold”, and the porcelain bath was cold on my bare skin, the water had lost its warmth long ago, and it went red as my blood filled it. 

i saw it above me, a holy ghost in the sky that told me i was a fool, and i knew i was, but i played along with that game because it was fun, right? “you’ll be fine sweetie, just slip your head through the loop and step off the chair, just lie in the bath and take that knife and open yourself up like a christmas turkey,” and you carved me beautifully and served me on a pristine white plate. what did i taste like? were the family made full of cheer? i was made full of lies, full of the lies you fed me. i wouldn’t be surprised if you could taste them again, only this time they’d be bitter and twisted and full of bloody water. 

and maybe i was wrong. maybe it was easy, like walking over concrete, like talking to the carpet without expecting a reply, like letting the water go and watching gravity do its work. i hope they brought you back to earth after our voyage to the stars, i hope they cleaned all the bitter lies out of my guts before you served me up for dinner, i hope the bathtub made cleaning up easier, i hope my gravestone says i miss you, i hope the lies taste bitter when you eat them again, i hope spilling the water didn’t stain the rug, i hope tying the noose wasn’t too hard for you. i hope you don’t forgive yourself.