06: Open - June 2021

My Murder

The last time I felt love in the hands of another was after my own hands went cold on my bathroom floor. my fingers caught the pills one by one, one bottle after another, little white bullets being drowned in white wine. I didn't clean the crime scene - I simply fell asleep. I wasn't counting on the vomit or the ruination of the plush bathroom mat. I just let myself freeze under the trickles of the shower water. watching my life go down the drain and imagining what it would feel like if suddenly i was pulled out of the water by someone. my lungs filled to the brim. but there was no salt in the water, just salt in the wounds i hadn’t bothered cleaning. I was out of my body, a ghost, sitting in the corner. i tried to imagine someones hands in my hair, washing out the aftermath of my murder. no one was on trial, but everyone was a suspect. 

 Telling the stories of my life as their hands trace the edges of my face. telling them how I wish I could tell someone the whole story of why I am the way I am. tell them about how some days i’m sad and some days i’m not unhappy. How some days i hate and i love 
 and if you ask me how, i do not know: i only feel it and i’m torn in two. i’d tell them how i only smoke to understand the smog. and i only force myself out because feeling alone in a room full of people makes me forget that i’m actually alone. 
 clean as a baby, i was being reborn and 
 unborn at the same time. I was pulled out of purgatory and swaddled in wool. my stomach was still trying to escape me and the angel on my shoulder simply laughed. I imagined getting in the ambulance. I apologized for the mess I caused. the driver asked me, heaven or hell? 
  I said whichever, the world would still keep spinning if I was dead. 

 I've spent 5 years unsure who the tears on my face belonged to, so I think I'm going to be sad forever. The beauty of ending up in darkness on the shower floor is that you learn there is no one watching, and there never was. we all just think about driving. less about coming from a place or arriving at a place. 
 I was cruising so smoothly for 2 years but I still managed to take the wrong exit again. now i’m going 200 with my head flung back and everything rushing past in a blur of red and green lights. I imagine someone’s hands now moving from my hair to my shoulders. and just holding me. I can't remember the last time I was just held. Last time someone carried the weight of my world for me. I imagine someone breaking out whispers through backed up tears, telling me I can't live this way anymore.

  I don't want to live this way anymore either but what choice do I have? I imagine someone finally trying to save me. not because I want attention. just because i always pick people up when i’m shattered on the bathroom floor. I don't mean to sound cold but it’s someone else’s turn to care because when I'm on my last straw no one is ever there.  so don’t leave, i just need that last reason to turn my life around. but as much as i want to change, if i could do it all again i would because it made me feel like a god.
-Wiktoria Smigas

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