The Poison We Choose

She is the poison that I choose to drink.

It’s a poison that slowly kills me.

I love it.

I look forward to it.

I hate her and love her.

I have no choice.

I’m addicted to her.

I’m addicted to the pain.

I’m addicted to the pleasure.

The pain outweighs the pleasure 100 fold.

This doesn’t matter.

She is the slow death I willingly choose.

She is the only one that makes me feel truly alive.

She kills me and saves me in every moment.

How can another human make life worth living one second and then tempt you to jump off a skyscraper in the next?

Such is love I guess.

I understand now why Romeo drank that poison when he saw Juliet laying there dead.

She is no Juliet though.

She is the poison they drank.

You would think that my desire for self preservation would save me.

These feelings defy biology.

That’s how I know they are special.

If I could do it all over again I would.

WIthout hesitation.

She is who I choose.

She doesn’t know it though.

I’ll never tell her.

I’ll never let her know what she is to me.

I’m not that cruel,

Not yet.

The second hand on the clock keeps ticking.

With every tick, I know that I am dying.

A slow death.

We all are.

We search for meaning in the ticks.

She is one of those meanings.

She is the pause between ticks.

The half second of silence and peace before the tick reminds us that everything in life is finite.

Time passes and so do we.

Everything that is will pass.

Myself, her and the rest of them that don’t matter.

We will all pass soon.

It is inevitable.

The ticking clock is the constant reminder.

I had a watch once.

She smashed it.

She said it ticked too loud at night and kept her awake.

She took a hammer and smashed it into 100 pieces.

My dad had given me that watch.

He had passed years ago.

I didn’t mind that she smashed it.

It did tick pretty loud.

I had friends once.

She said that they were terrible people.

I miss them some days.

I had a family once.

I thought they were terrible people.

I miss them some days.

I had dreams once.

She said my dreams were her nightmares.

I miss those dreams with every passing second.

I had a purpose once.

She said that my purpose now was to make her happy.

I miss my old purposes.