Wolf Hour

You don't understand.
This is not me.
This is the replica
you want me to be.

I take off my necklace. It isn't me. I take off my pretty dress. I stained it. I take off my tights. My bra. It has pressed on the half-finished tattoo. That is me. I pull my t-shirt over my head. This is me. I stop. I gasp for breath. You hit me again, with your absence. It's so strong it hurts me. It kills me. This is me.

You can't protect me.
Not from everything.
Sooner or later there will be something
ripping us apart.

I stagger into bed. Not to sleep. That is me. I type. That is me. I channel my anger in my words. That is me. I take off my smile and jokes. That isn't me. I take off my mask and my joy. That isn't me. I listen to songs with heavy beats. That isn't me. I need it. I need it to divert my attention.

You don't understand.
I'm not conventional.
It won't pass.
It will never pass.

As if it was just yesterday, I remember. I want to forget. Be alone. That is me. But I can't. You press on my mind, constantly. You leave me no rest. You. Drain. Me. That isn't me.

I wanted to haunt your dreams.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted you to bleed.
But it didn't happen,
or so it seems.
You're haunting mine,
You're in my sleep.

I'm insomniac. That is me. I'll never rest. That is me. I'm a ghost. That is me.
That is who you've made me to be.

Leave me.
Like you promised.
Don't fuck things up.
Don't tear me.
Not again.
I can't take it.
I can't live with it.

I can't have you so fucking close when you're supposed to be completely absent.
I can't have your face as my first thought in the morning.
I can't wake up in one more wolf hour, without breath, realizing you're not here.
You're still not here.

Take it back.
Undo what you did.
Or you'll kill me.
You'll kill me.