Time;
It’s a funny thing.
I lost track of it in the four years that I was with you;
Every wound no matter how old stayed fresh as you continued to wield your sword of obscenities at me.
The more alcohol you chugged-
The worse the outcome was for me.
Your hate filled me to the brim the same way you filled your trash cans with empty beer-
And eventually it got so heavy that I broke.
How could you ever blame me for leaving you when you were so ugly and disgusting?
You never cared about my pain until I was on my way out the door;
Reaching out a hand and an empty whispered “I’ll change.”
You deserve every drunk, lonely night you ever have.
My ghost walks around your house and leaves acid in your stomach and lumps in your throat because although you’ll never admit it-
You know my absence is your fault.
It will always be your fault.
You don’t get to pretend you want to change anymore just because you don’t want to feel my loss.
Feel it.
Drown in it.
Let it devour you.
None of this would’ve happened had you kept your hands off of me and acted like a decent man.
None of it would’ve happened had you let me give you divorce papers instead of manipulating me into continuously coming back.
But time;
It is a funny thing isn’t it?
Because I will continue to heal,
And move on as I have.
But you will continue to be an alcoholic.
And you will always be a narcissist.
Even time won’t be able to change that.
