r u s s i a n
r o u l e t t e
~-~
Take a breath, take it deep
~-~
He doesn't care.
He doesn't love you.
You know this.
And yet, you don't want to believe it, you refuse to believe it, because it can't be true.
You're perfect for each other.
You love him.
(illusions are controlling your life)
~-~
Calm yourself, he says to me
~-~
You miss the way things used to be.
He was so sweet, so perfect, so unfairly loveable.
mbcfmbcf
You smile down at the red roses, glowing happily. Others look on enviously, and you flip your chocolate brown hair happily, tucking the small note into a small front pocket in your jeans.
mbcfmbcf
You were perfect together. The "it" couple. Nothing could go wrong- you were equally fabulous, equally gorgeous, equally carefree.
You miss it.
To this day, you remember when everything changed.
You doubt you'll ever forget.
~-~
If you play, you play for keeps
~-~
You quietly sit next to him, and for a brief moment, he stares into your eyes.
Amber orbs widen, and you bit your lip, eyebrows creasing and wrinkles forming.
They're dull. Dark. They don't shine, they don't sparkle, and you don't understand why.
They scare you.
His black hair is mussed and ragged and shaggy, large gray bags visible under his eyes.
Finally, he speaks, his voice a croak.
"I never got to say goodbye."
Tears form in your eyes, and you blink madly, avoiding his gaze. But it's magnetic, and you lock eyes yet again, and they're still dull, with a slight heartbroken tint, and you know, at least, that he still cares, that he can still feel.
Your arm slips around his neck, but he simply pushes it off. "Not now, Mass." He croaks.
You make yourself stay, though. He needs you. You're all he has left. And eyes traveling around the room- to his dad, arms crossed and emotionless, to his "friends," playing with a hackey sack in the back pew, you realize that you really might be all he has left.
A horrible feeling forms in your gut- the kind that occurs when you know something bad is about to happen, when you know things are about to take a turn for the worst.
He needs you.
You'll never leave him.
Take the gun, and count to three
And amazingly, you haven't.
You haven't left him.
Maybe you just don't have a choice, now, or maybe you love him still.
Or maybe, and most likely, you stay with him, hoping things will finally return to how they were before.
You're dwelling, happily splashing around in the past.
You don't want to leave.
You don't want to face reality, face the future.
I'm sweating now, moving slow
Slap.
The sound rings loudly around the room- the sound of flesh meeting flesh, hand meeting cheek.
A horrible sound. An unforgettable sound.
To this day, it haunts you.
You'll never forget it.
And you stare at him, eyes wide and confused.
What did you do?
You don't know what, and yet, you blame yourself. You had to have done something.
Because it can't, just can't be him. He's perfect, he's innocent.
It's all your fault.
No time to think, my turn to go
And it goes on for months.
What did you do?
And you tell yourself that it's all your fault, and you believe it.
He doesn't need an excuse.
You don't need to know.
And then, one day, one miserable, cloudy day, everything changes.
As my life flashes before my eyes
He's in an especially bad mood, today.
Things are worse than usual, get out of hand- you know it, you can feel it.
Bruises.
Blood.
Bruises.
Blood.
You can't handle it.
Discreetly, you dial 911 behind your back.
Of course, he notices.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" a calm voice asks, barely noticeable.
He lets out a growl, and grabs the phone from you. Then, in one swift movement, he throws it against the wall, and it shatters.
And he turns around, facing you, and there's a fire blazing in his eyes.
I'm wondering will I ever see another sunrise?
They find you.
They track you down- in record speed, in a few minutes.
It's not enough.
(the damage is done)
So many won't get the chance to say goodbye
And he glares at you, and his eyes haunt you, and you watch the car, the flashing lights drive off.
Something occurs to you.
You're free.
But you don't feel free.
You feel nothing, you feel empty, you feel anything but free.
And you study your right arm
(bruises)
and gingerly feel your cheek
(blood)
and you feel disgusting, impure, and you just want to be clean.
You wipe your wrist on your pants, but nothing happens.
You even look impure.
And, ignoring the yells and flashing lights and stoic officers and caution tape and ambulances, you do the only thing you can think of.
(you run)
But it's too late too pick up the value of my life
I'm a little iffy about this one. So review, pretty please?