Split

It's been two years now
And I can't say that anything is any better.
I drink to forget
But I always remember.

I'd known her for 4 years, she was basically part of our family.
She was the first person I came out to.
She taught me how to write both poetry and prose
And in her footsteps, I followed.

To be fair, I should have seen it coming.
She had been acting strange and saying odd, out of place things.
I was wearing a dark green t-shirt and denim shorts with flip-flops.
I shouldn't have been so naive and trusting.

Looking back, it's easy to see that I was her puppet.
She lived through me.
In 3 years, I accomplished more than she had in her entire life.
The very world was at my feet.

From the actual day, the last day we spoke, I don't remember much.
But I do remember how badly my chest hurt.
I remember not being able to move or speak or scream
And I remember how much my lungs burned from holding my breath.
Fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into the skin on the palms of my hands and drew blood.

After that everything gets hazy.

I didn't eat or sleep for days.
I stopped talking entirely.
My mother had to help me bathe.
All I did was stare and it's like I wasn't even there anymore.

Massive gaps remain in my memory of the time shortly after the incident.
All I know is that I took every single aspect of my person apart and redesigned it all.
From nothing, I created life and began again.