Dead.

I just may be.

Dead that is. Death is loveless. My death was given to me by the one that I loved the most. If I could bury myself I would. Words,words,words.

Slow with sadness and limited movement.You thought that I was dead? I did too. Maybe we are all closer than we realize and we should be cooler and more thankful of everyday that we are given. Find some kind of beauty in monotony.In the details.

But we don’t and won’t because we are all self absorbed assholes.

I am so small. You can’t see me anymore.I write to myself which is why I have not written at all.I mark the letters that I send to myself “Return to sender” .I know that people are talking to me but I only catch the key words and try to nod in the more appropriate places.I keep to myself. I don’t want to talk.

Everything that was good within my heart was taken ,destroyed and used against me.I give up. You win.

I dream of taking a pin and dipping it in undiluted bleach and slowly and methodically inserting it into every pore on my corpse.Dip,insert,repeat. Of being able to enter my body with hydraulic acid and steel wool. Of peeling my finger and toenails off. All countries are dead.I am floating rancid ,alone on a black sea. I don’t understand.Language is lost to me.My spine Bent.Tension in all bones and cells.

And they said that I was dead.

( “Are you dead? How did this happen? ”  “I can’t quite recall…it was a series of things and then I realized that I had stopped breathing all together”  “How terrible for you!”  “Well yes,I guess that it is because I was always lead to believe that once this took place that the pain would stop. I removed my heart as instructed but it still hurts most dreadfully”  “A phantom pain then? ”  “I guess that it must be. I gave it to the only one I loved who told me that they would take care of it and….” )

To most, I guess I am now. So do I grieve the loss of myself.?Does anyone?As time marches on jackbooted and pedigreed supreme ,the answer is no. No one cares.

When everything that you say or do is wrong,you stop. If not you will be driven mad.

All the days bleed together.People have stopped contacting me because I cannot communicate.This is to be expected.This is not any kind of shock. Late,late at night I reach into the jeweled chest at the foot of my bed and gently remove the wrapped bundle that lies on top of all of our letters and pictures. I sit primal and cross legged in the center of my bed. The cloth carries your scent. I peel it back to reveal what at first looks like a chunk of coal. I run my finger lightly over the deep imprint of your teeth and fingerprints.The marks that you left behind.

I lift it to the light ,silently begging ot to tell me what went wrong.Being that the heart is dead much like Elvis and God I receive no reply.

My face is always wet with tears.People move away from me. Like they may catch it. The sadness.

So this is me dead.