the heel press

You win.

I surrender to your painful game of revenge.

I'll remember to kill someone quickly next time, you should learn to do the same

because Im still sitting here and still measuring with the fact that my heart is constantly beating irregularly.  

I put my thoughts on shuffle.

Starting with the clearest memory (our past) and ending with the fuzziest (our future). 

Its become only too obvious that cigarettes and caffeine are not my only addiction, and thats when I pause my thoughts...

Inhale...

Exhale...

And press play again. 

You always have paint smudges and stains on your fingers.

I've watched you in action before.

Your mind seemed so at peace, so clear, so confident of your next stroke.

You heard my foot steps and yelled that I fucked up your concentration,

taking paint in between your fingers and smudging it

all over the masterpiece that you had just attempted to create.

I tried to walk out of the room, but you grabbed my arm and turned me.

I wouldnt look at you in the eyes as you apologized, explaining that you had no idea what you had just become; when to me, I saw that side of you all the time.

And every time I witness it, I cant do a damn thing except kiss your beautiful face.

Telling you its alright, whispering that I love you, and praying things will smooth over with us.

Pause.

I should check facebook.

Pause.

Did I feed the fish?

Pause.

I need to call my mom later.

Play.

Ive always been curious as to what your expectations are of me.

Something, I hope, thats labeled under a non physical category.

Rewind.

Your days of wanting me ended awhile ago.

My rehab companions including Nina Simone and always the occasional Coldplay (they have broken hearts down to a T.)

I'm ironically crying about all the moments we spent laughing.

Remembering Cars, Downtown, and the skateboarding stoner homeless man.

We always chose to walk 8 blocks, never taking the subway (I hope that doesnt make me sound lazy to think about).

Play.

Your mother is upset because my hair is messed up.I would be AMAZING at lying if my face didnt turn red everytime I tried. We both start laughing, sipping our Sunkist as innocently as possible. 

I'm taking my Design test. Looking up only to find your head through the smallest sliver of glass, you wave your arm violently to come outside. Which I do. I always do. We wander, never able to find a hiding spot in the school designed as a prison.

Stop. I can hear my heart beat again.

Its irregular pattern has always done something to allure your attention on to me.

I dont know what happened.

I dont know how to get it back.