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Lying Lips

Here is my truth.
I want to bleed out slowly, into the bathtub.
I want to see red, red, red until I go, go, go.
I want it to hurt all of you, the way you've hurt me.
No more struggles with pill-numb or missed doses tears.
Until then, I will smile so big, and you will believe me.
To help alleviate my sadness, I try and focus on all the bad things about him.
He had this ridiculous aversion to raisins because he viewed them as “expired grapes”.
Neither of my sisters liked him.
He never really had anything to say.

Sometimes, I over exaggerate his physical flaws and try to remember him like that.
I have a thing with teeth.
He didn’t have the worst teeth, but they weren’t great.
So then I end up recalling him like this:

Pucker up!


This isn’t always enough, so I go further and imagine how horrible he’ll be when he’s older.

He had this desire to join some sort of law enforcement agency.
I can’t stand cops.
Let’s go with that.
Also, balding men are a huge turn off for me.
I can imagine him balding, pulling people over for going 5 miles over the speed limit and other ridiculous reasons.
I focus on this with such fervor, until I have a clear picture in my mind:


Sour Grapes


A lot of times, this doesn’t work.
It only gets me so far.

I know that when I’ve finally limped away with the pieces big enough to pick up and am able to turn my back on what has happened to walk towards a beginning, I won’t picture him with insipid logic about fruit.
I won’t picture him with teeth that rival a caveman’s.
I won’t picture him as an arrogant, belligerent police officer.

I just won’t picture him at all.
I was just thinking about this girl named Crystal I met during my in-patient stays at Halifax, a facility for behavioral teens under 18.
I was there for cutting, something I didn't even have a term for at the time.
I was about 13, 14.
It wasn't popular to cut, then.
There weren't articles warning parents every other day in the newspapers, then.
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Private Parts