In my sleep? You coward. Attack a man while he slumbers.
Red blood dripping from my right nostril.
How close were you this time? In my nightmare I could sense your presence. Do you no longer attempt to conceal your footfalls?
A coward and hasty. Are you afraid?
Is this irony? Can fear by afraid? Anxiety anxious?
Red blood dripping, staining the white cotton sheets.
I no longer love you. And you want to punish me for that. I no longer need you, and you don’t want to be left alone. You would rather kill me than let me be rid of suffering.
Stalking, scheming, insidious toxic parasite.
I repeat and hear it well; take heed of these last words of mine. I speak them, standing over your unmarked grave in the secret place where I have buried you, countless times in my brightest hopes. ‘You are a fucking coward. Nobody loves you anymore. You belong in the wasteland, forgotten, in an unmarked grave, endlessly and mercilessly trodden upon.’
I long for the day I uncover you, reveal your chaotic and frantic fury, and take my two hands, wrap them gently, softly, almost lovingly, around you, embracing you, as you thrash about. I dream of the day I suffocate the life-force from your evil gasping. Silence, make still, your aimless thrashing.
Until next time. Until tonight. Until after the red blood has dried.