I made a mistake.
I did it, now the damage is done.
Even if I try to fake,
What’s my end? Why and where would I run?
I wanted to be human with you,
I wanted you to feel the same.
I spilled my stomach out onto the floor, showed you my kidneys, my liver, my intestines, my everything. I bled on your tiles, dark red, the blood of a man who had shed no blood since childhood. I pointed to my spine, my lungs, my heart.
I pulled it all out, pulled myself apart.
I set it all out, lined up for you to touch and see,
To feel and finally know the real me.
But you didn’t. You just stared. I don’t know if you didn’t care or were just too scared. But you didn’t touch them. You just stared and turned away without a word. I pulled it all back in, scooping and scraping it off the floor with my arms. I held it in as I walked out mumbling something reminiscent of “I’m sorry.”
I went home and sat on my bed, my head pounding with thoughts I’ll never say and tears I can’t bring myself to cry. And in the pit of my stomach, it all still writhes in stale isolation.