Storytime... (KISS)

...the twisted little way I have of writing...

Friday, May 04, 2007

What happened?

When I think of you I whimper. It's definently a whimper. I can't cry anymore when I see you lying there on the floor or when you're passed out drunk, or when you're so sick you can't feel the blood trickeling down your face. I used to wince when I had to give you stitches. It hurt me, the thought of hurting you. And there you lye, like a dead dog, scratching your nose against the carpet, another long night of nothing you can remember. Let me remind you of what happened.

"You know I care right?"
"Yeah." You said smiling back at me.
Yeah is right. It wasn't long before you were getting High, having a grand old time. We were cruising from bar to bar, making fools of ourselves. I can't drink as much as you. I cut myself off early. Always have, always will. But you. You drink. You drank. You were drunk. And you drank some more. Then you hit the window. Then you hit the road. Then you hit some guy. Then you turned to me. Yeah, of course I cleaned it all up. It doesn't matter how. Don't be concerned about that. Just smile and thank me. Remember later, when I need a favour, that I did you yet another favour. After that we went to a friend's house. Do you remember whose? Do you remember that girl, the one we both love? The one who hates me. The one who tried to stab me. Do you remember what she did when she saw you? Yeah that's right, she smiled and started running up to you. And then what she did when she saw me... Do you remember her tackling me and punching me? We hit the ground. She hit the ground. I hit a rock. Don't worry about the bruise. Her and I have a temporary understanding. You hear me? Don't you dare concern your hung-over little head about what happened to me. No. I'm fine.
Do you remember what she gave you? I don't either. But I know what you're like when you're on speed, when you're drunk and on speed. When you wake up to that killer feeling in the pit of your stomach to realize you never slept at all. I know you didn't sleep. You blacked out, but you didn't sleep. No really. Trust me, I followed you all around all night. You know I'll never get sleep if you keep this up. Concerned? No, don't you concern yourself about pretty little ol' me. I can handle myself. I can handle you. I've been doing this for years. Haven't I? Or wait... how long has it been?...
Oh never mind that... Do you remember walking up the stairs. You tripped on that little divet, the one where you broke the stairs last time. Yes I know you don't remember that. That was a few nights ago and you haven't been off it yet. Get off of me. I don't want you to touch me now. No I didn't want you to touch me then either. Oh sure, remember that. Remember me rejecting you. Putting you to bed and sitting on the floor. Do you remember how many times you got up? 47 times the first hour. you pace the floor a lot when you're on speed. That's part of the reason why I hate that woman, she knows what it does to you. She knows it keeps you awake. She knows it keeps me awake. Bitch. Oh no, not at all. You know I don't really mean it. Yes I love her too, it's just that she's so frustruating. Constantly convinced that I want to steal you from her. You're not even hers. Come to think of it, how many times have I told her she can have you? I lost count too.
Do you remember going to the porch. I've learned to follow you everywhere. Bathroom, cellar, out to the driveway. The porch is relatively safe. Only a 20 foot drop. Yeah. Do you remember that? Didn't think you would. Did you cry? No. No you didn't. Did it hurt you dear? You know I still wonder if things hurt when you're that messed up. But I've gotten used to the idea. No! Don't touch your stitches, I'm sure they're tender.

No. I really never could cry when I saw you like this. It used to bother me a lot more than it does now, but I would suck it up. I'd ignore how I felt for your sake. You needed my help. You've always needed someone's help. I'm the only one who ever gave it to you, who ever would, who still does. The only one.
Why... I can't help whimpering when I think it to myself. I want to ask it, never can get it out as anything more than a whimper. But still I want to ask it: Why do you do this to us?

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