The Worst Thing

It’s selfish and conceited, but sometimes I like to think I was your worst.

I was this little period in your life that you swallow pills to forget

I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

I kept you up all night, tossing in your bed, while thoughts went round your head

Like who the fuck is she, and did she mean what she said?

I’m a little piece of nightmare that got stuck in your dream teeth.

I’m the ghost devil on your shoulder, that you really thought was dead

And every so often you recall what I did

And think shit what did I get into, and can it never happen again.


I was conceited when I loved you, I was selfish when I left

I tossed words without abandon, I belittled what we had

Misery loves company, was my battle cry

I hung the phrase on all my banners, and let harsh words fall from my lips

Each second I felt scorned I thought would be my last

Every teardrop that fell from my eye you knew I blamed on you

I stuck a dagger in your chest, hoping to rake through

Your ribs and crack them down to dust


I love to imagine how I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

And in that I will be immortalized

That slanderous tale told at a cabin, and ghost story for the young

A cautionary tale of psycho bitches and what can come undone

A warning for your friends, a comedy for the bored,

A thank-your-lucky-stars-it-wasn’t-you for the unappreciative ignored

I will outlive all the rest, based on my infamy of horribleness


And then I feel downright bad.


Because I loved you in the moment, I treasured what we had

I trusted every word you spoke, believed each lie you said –

I think we both did – and when I started believing I was the

Worst thing that could happen to you, that I was crazy and insane,

I ran away and still blame you, even if it’s all in vain


Because I am the worst thing to ever happen to you


I have empty gaps in my mind
from a time I was so sad
I can’t remember even though I want to

What did I do each day
and how did I get out of bed
and what did I learn in school

These pieces are out of my grasp
and I want to blame you for these sorrows
but I can only blame myself for the bad investment

But if flew away from her reach

That feeling of nausea you get from trapping
That pounding head, drum beat on temple, inside out
And the gasp for breath and wheezy sob
Mascara smear, patch it up real quick
Calm the shaking shoulder, stroke hand through my own hair
Calm yourself, because this is wrong, lest somebody should see

I am so filled with sorrow.
I wish it was possible for you to understand.
This bubbling mirth is just surface deep and
Every wound is too deep to see…or has on the surface healed.

I wish at every moment I could tell you the truth,
Because everyone deserves the truth,
But all I can offer is my bitter-sweet regret,
For the actions I have not done yet, and also the ones I have –
Even if they only affect my own person.

I haven’t cried like this since innocence.
I am a deeply unhappy person –
Is there no hope for people like us?
Those passionate few…
Shall we die? Together?


I was suffering severely when I wrote those words that like torrents of tears poured from my mouth, my face – and face is the value you took them at: a mistake.  The words that push you away were meant to call you back.  Back to the place that we once started from. Friends.  Fearless friends that fought, that fought each other, fought against the bad, bad that is in the words, the world, the whirlwind of thoughts we had, that echoed each other.


The moment the words had left my lips, I felt a cool damp mist fill in the space where my heart used to be.  I became devoid of spirit.  And with my heart and happiness, also left my sorrow and tears.  I had no desire to cry, I had no desire to jump or move or run or complete any task.  I didn’t want to feel nothing, but nothing was better than how I had felt.  People say they want pain over emptiness – how can that be?  How can the knife slowly twisting and turning through the flesh of your heart, as warm blood spills over your mind and blinds your eyes in pain and lust, feel better than this dull numbness that begins to spread over one’s limbs.

She had been my Eden…and I had been the serpent: slowly winding in and out of emotions, manipulating and using my forked tongue to twist situations to my desire – only I was never quite as successful.  I was never able to remove myself, as I was always manipulating my own situations, and to an imperfect outcome.  I had regrets, I felt remorse, and I felt shame – things he knew not of.  And I failed to purge Eden of her goodness.  I failed in my task and instead was broken.  If only this had been the true creation story and we would have never needed saving; I would never needed to be saved.  I wouldn’t need to be saved.

In my precarious position, as I teeter on the edge of a knife, I feel so in place. I would never, ever, reach the side of happiness it seemed, but I was no longer being tugged towards the other – upsetting the balance of the knife, letting it cut my feet.  I was free of cuts, of pain, of suffering.  I was also free of smiles, happiness, laughter.  Oh to be in this position, did I feel yearning or relief?

The Fairy Tale Dream

As soon as the words leapt from my mouth like some dancing flame I couldn’t control,

I wanted to scream: I LIED!

But my mouth swallowed my words, and my tongue swelled so I could no longer speak.

I have fallen down some Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole

Caught in between a world I desire which I’ll never have and some stark reality which is playing tricks on me.

How can I be the only one deceived by these mismarked potion bottles?

When I drink the one which says courage, I grow smaller.  When I drink the one marked power, I become a pawn.

However, unlike Alice I was not drowning in my own tears.  It is not my tears I fear but my words.

And I’m not a dumb blond like Alice, easily confused and fooled by people.

I see that Cheshire cat, always willing to smile at me; I’m never willing to smile back.

[Once upon a time were the words that I spoke.]

I drink tea like the Mad Hatter and I’m wicked like the Queen.

Maybe the best place for me is the Rabbit Hole, where I can pretend it’s all a dream, and that soon I’ll wake up on the banks of that flowing river – well rested with an attitude adjustment, and some new found appreciation like Dorothy after she returns from Oz.

If only lessons were so easily learned as in fairy tales.