It was all real.
The caresses and the sighs, the tears and desperation.
The dancing in the living room and your kisses on the end of my nose.
It was real.
Those moments were mine.
But you want me to believe none of it was.
So you can be one dimensional.
And I can realize you're just a piece of shit.
That would be easier for you.
If I could just disappear into the abyss believing you to be the monster you see yourself as.
So I decided last night.
I decided to believe your lies.
And believe none of it was real.
Your need for me, my soul in your bed.
I decided to believe I was one of the eight women you tried to call that night.
That I could have been any body.
Any willing maid, willing to let you use her for your distraction.
Your consumption.
You devoured me whole.
And I'm not going to believe any more.
I'm not going to fight, for hope, for the good within you.
I'm going to give in, give in to the destruction you wanted to happen.
So I can have an answer, so I can stop wondering and questioning and trying to solve the puzzle that has nothing to do with me.
So I decided last night.
None of it was real.
Those kisses weren't meant for my lips.
And those songs we listened to while you held my hand were someone else's songs.
And when you closed your eyes while I was sitting upon you it was someone else's thighs you were squeezing.
But one night was real.
One moment was mine.
The night you drew the gun from your desk, the night you showed the disdain you feel for me.
That is our truth.
Everything else was fantasy.
And I believed the lies, so convincingly, didn't I, love?
You were so proud.
Proud of my blind obedience.
But now, I'm believing in the absence of you.
I'm believing your silence.
Shame filled silence.
The moments I felt your love were my own illusions.
We all live by so many.
But I won't anymore.
Believe in anything.
Anything that involves your shadow.
Because none of it was real.
What's real is our demise.
What's real is how quickly you've already forgotten me.
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