a murder or a suicide
the blood spreads across the bathtub in a haphazard array, as in all of those artsy films i made you watch with me where creamer dropped into coffee become a fibonnacci sequence. i’m afraid, i blurt out quickly in a whisper because there is no math to solve this. i just ignore probability. how quickly once becomes twice escapes my mind when you hold me: when you hold me you hold me down. you have knives instead of fingers and i have the wounds to prove it. she did them to herself, you’ll claim in a court of your guilty conscience where even seventeen-year-olds are tried as adults. i’ve grown up more in this last week than in any other week this month. i hesitate to say this lifetime. i’d say thank you for the lessons and experience but all i can think is fuck you.
might seemed more probable the last time i said you might be a mistake. a scream heard while driving, while drowning and dying in blood that’s draining as you dread an immenent return and await the realization of so many chinese fortunes: f u c k y o u. because i’d never hurt you in the worst way you’ve been hurt before but you do it to me without so much as a sincere apology. fuck you.