for two years
he lived in my heart, I thought of him
constantly, he took
over my mind and could
have had me
many times over, if he
wanted to. and yet
we fought all the time,
for every positive
interaction there must have been
at least three negative
ones. (and no, I’m not
counting the times
where I thought he
was being distant
and it turned out it
had nothing to do
with me. I asked, you see,
and found out what was really
going on.) no, I’m talking
actual, deliberate cruelty
inflicted from one to the other,
often both. he was usually
full blackout drunk
and didn’t always remember
what he had said and done.
I, on the other hand,
remember every bitter detail, much
to the detriment
of my mental health.

I cast him out
of my heart
like the demon he was
three times. in magic,
doing something three times
means something, shows you
mean it, makes it stick.
I can only hope
that this time,
the third time
is the charm.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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