Alexander Michael Ziperovich
The rose with the thorn that you thought pierced my heart, the one I picked up and held for a moment, I watched it prick my finger in atonement, enthralled with all the little streams of blood steaming into our endless winter coldness and then one day I threw it away to burn deep in an incinerator to end your foray, the bloody rose turned to ash and decay and the sun cast a single warm ray out upon my face.
My clarity was replaced with a broken disease, the prettiest disease you never did see, unless you were me or you got to know she and her sadistic needs, how she voraciously feeds, all the darkness inside of her that never sleeps, a fallen angel making god weep.
The perennial nightmare of beauty and knives and suicide tries but who was I to die, all of it seemed perfectly fine for a guy living the way I lived, needles for breakfast, in and out of jail doing bids, her busy in the bathroom exercising her esophageal muscles, spewing out all that self-hatred but you can’t vomit yourself out of yourself.
I tasted the poison like fugu sashimi, and believe me, the dose determines how violently sick you’ll be, now I laugh as I see, all for what, so I could be the need in her pleas getting plates thrown at my skull cause she felt like I might just secede and leave instead of feeding the beast, spend the rest of my life watching her deteriorate until the girl I knew completely ceased to be and I became weak and died miserably bleak smothered in screams.
You’re already ugly to me and that’s why you should know that all those times I said you were beautiful, I meant like snow, it melts and it’s gone but one thing remains and that’s your broken soul and that empty feeling you keep trying to fill in is like shoveling dirt into a bottomless hole.
I must just be one of them bad guys, so perfect in the eyes of anyone that doesn’t know how insane you are and all our little secrets about the things you did during all the bad times, never me the angel with all my dirt, but you never let anything but terror reign out, acid rain burned everything down, our love was replaced by chemicals and screaming and being addicted to being heathens and I found no respite in anything anymore but I stayed on.
You continued being a whore, fucking my friends with a mantra psychotic, constantly finding new prescriptions of antibiotics, losing my mind cause this is not how love feels and I’m so stupid I thought it was real instead of a psychotic ordeal, an orchestra of sad futile hope building into a crescendo of doing bags full of dope.
You knew deep down, if you have a deep down, you couldn’t get me to stay around and around and around unless I never got better but I finally did rebound and you stayed sick and I know you remember that last night when I said “enough of this shit,” and you said to me quietly, “Alex, you’re better off without me,” because you were still so sick.
Your honesty haunted me and I left and went downstairs and got in my car and felt a rush of cold air and I freed myself from my rusty shackles and I stopped hating myself for not being able to free you from your psychiatric battles.
I sat in my car and shed a couple tears, I had done everything possible for three fucking years.
I think of flowers with red pedals in the brilliance of the sun in the winter, a memory, sort of like how the only time we were ever happy was rolling on ecstasy, god what a mess, such fun, such stress, just when you came down you would scream in our love nest, do you remember that was our name for that haunted place? That place should be condemned or turned into an asylum for men, darling, here is my gift, I know how mad you got when I gave that girl a poem you saw me scrawl so here’s another one for you and you can keep this one too because this one is personalized just like the other few.
Now it’s our autumn and things are dying all around us, I used to curse god for making you this way and letting us find us but in the end it was just another reminder that life is rough and beautiful and everything is okay as long you’re tough enough to lose someone without losing yourself at the proverbial funeral.