His voice is ripe with derision.
“It’s not me,” he insists.
“It’s you, You. YOU!”
You don’t make me smile.
You make me unhappy.
You made me cheat.
You made me leave.
You made me hate you.
You, you, you…
Your words precise with scorn,
And I am shamed.
I am stunned.
I am scorned.
I am nothing without you…
Consumed by the weight of time,
Nothing consoles me.
The sound of the clock ticking off seconds,
Sounds harsh and accusatory to my ears.
Is this punishment for some past, heinous crime that I committed under the influence of you?
It burns me to know that I settled for you,
And look what you’ve done!
You’ve trapped me here in this space called nowhere.
You intend to do nothing to help me escape,
Strangely, the fault is all mine…
I am the accused.
Tried, convicted, hung without fair representation.
The facts of this case remain unclear.
The closing arguments remain clouded by jealousy.
The evidence remains to be seen.
A jury of my peers are nowhere to be found.
The judge presiding over my case is you.
Need I say more?
The ebb and flow of my memories are not kind to you.
They drift into consciousness like a reel of old black and white film.
There’s no stark contrast…just muddled grays interspersed with spots of darkness.
A loss of awareness occurs because time has erased some of my pain and some of my joy.
I can’t remember if your voice soothed or if your touch bruised.
I can’t remember if you loved me kindly, or loved me at all…
Confessions of a Thinkaholic 