
Belfast Graffiti



She couldn't understand why
she never felt the pain...
It had to have hurt.
It was the cortisol,
the norepinephrine...
It was the chemicals produced from
sheer panic that had instantaneously
turned her blood into red rivers
of viscous lidocaine.
Her senses so forcibly amplified
that everything else had just
gone numb.
You followed me down
the rabbit hole.
My selfish hand found yours
and I led you into the darkness.
Quietly...
Recklessly...
Blindly.
I should have known that
I wouldn't be able to guide myself...
Let alone the both of us.

She regretted her silence.
She regretted not putting up a fight.
She regretted blankly staring
into the off-white frame holding
one of the happiest moments of her life...
While he was giving her one of her worst.
In sixty minutes the sharp cascade
of volatile thoughts will cease
and I'll no longer be gagging
on the anger trapped
in the back of my throat.
My illogical rage cannot be challenged
with basic breathing techniques
and mundane meditative counting.
My only remedy is time.
So give me one hour...
Sixty minutes...
3600 fucking seconds...
And then I'll be okay.






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