An Early Birthday Gift

Author: monika massacre

I used to tell my parents I was afraid of the dark. I’d beg and cry until they let me curl up at the foot of the bed like a dog. I’d lay on the floor beside my mothers bed and hold her hand, panting against it until it became sticky with sweat and condensation. I think now I’m more so afraid of being alone. I tried to hang myself with a pair of old jeans last night. It felt like you were there again, wrapping your hands around my throat, making me cry. Making me something more than myself. Everyone thinks death will be so lonely, but I will dance with the cadavers in the crypt and sleep with a little girl like myself in her coffin. Hold her close so she won’t ever feel alone again. I could talk for hours with the maggots as they whisper the secrets of all the people they’ve devoured. I’ve always felt more at home around the deceased, I think I began to rot off the bone after the last summer my parents really loved me. Before I became this evil angry thing. I turn 16 in two weeks and all I’ve accomplished is tearing my life apart further. I lay in bed all alone and your jaws sit in a box under my pillow, clattering together as you once more try to speak. I see you always in my dreams, so delicate and fresh while I lie drowning in a pool of my own sick. I think it’s time I take the courage and finally do it. Pretty face blown apart by a 12 gauge round. I’ll make myself an angel, and maybe you’ll finally love me. The night I do it I’ll fade into some greater thing, the hot spring rain that fell the night we met. I’ll feed the plants that feed the deer that you will shoot. You will consume me and maybe then my being will make you feel full. This body was never enough