Rotting Infidelities

She felt the sensation of red liquid she thought wouldn't be escaping her cavities so soon. The iron induced trickling ran down her chest; soon to shoot to her stomach and so on. She feels the now cool fluids leaking out her nutrients; as she begins to feel woozy. The pumping of her jugular made so she cannot hide her riveting fear as I felt my switchblade; pressed up against her throat; rhythmically dance to the beat. I glazed the razor’s edge across her neck; covering every bruised inch of her limbs’ extremity, all the way down to her blue Hippo Campus. Her back instantly alike the dark pink mist that felt thick aligning patterns written across her narrow shaft; dripping to each present vertebra in her spinal chord. Going,

Down;
Down;
Down.

“You’re so weak” I deviously remark with my sideways grin;

While tears start rolling down her cheeks that I smeared plasma upon.

“When your vulgar perish arrives, I’m sure you’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” my words slurring fury.

My body exclaims utter audacity.

I say

“All you've ever been to me is white noise.”

The kind that smothers your eardrums; mimicking the gargles you’re making as you choke on your blood. The sound makes me giddy; I know you can tell.

“So, baby, don’t stop, send me to hell.” I spit,

giggling to myself.

I bow down to your statue, meanwhile looking up at that pale face; I see the angels take you away. Your struggles discombobulate, as I am the key to open the gates. Your energy rises, while mine dissipates. No worries fill my boggled brain of your ghost tainting me. Your entity is similar to how you exposed yourself while you still had breath coming out; frail and faint, helpless and easily visible insubstantial qualities. Your pathetic bones are not capable of taking away my vivacity. You must realize when I see your ghost it only bring back those happy moments of my hands clenching thy blade; strengthening my muscles and bones, joints, nerves, organs; every piece of me.
.
I took away the ring I held; that I thought was everlasting. The one that hung from your skinny fourth finger before you sunk beneath the dirt; with only your family watching your casket fall. I did not appear at the funeral for my dear. I never felt pity for your body. As soon as we cracked the glass beneath our feet, I knew the wedding was destined to be a waste of money. I was not aware of they affair, until the ending of the days we shared. Infidelities are my reasoning of why your pussy will never be touched once more; not by him nor me; rotting six feet under, I do not miss or feel guilty. Yet again you failed to be the bride you promised you’d be to me. Second chances only bring more shovels along to build your grave. You said you want to be buried in this cemetery. My promises are sincere unlike your unfaithful sense of story-telling frauds.

The taste of red wine soaks my mouth dry while I think of the later times when I knew exactly where you were. The memory of my hands around your throat brings smug triumph; squeezing the air from your lungs that afloat into alfresco. I could see my eyes filled with vile reflecting in yours’ as you let that last gasp out. The sight of you, black and blue lying on the floor in our old room, so effortless and cold; it reminded me of how you used to lay next to me, with my arms around you; only I, holding a smile. How could I not know?

The paper that bestowed us together I see as a reminder of they only truth given to our false union.