Is This the Happy You Wanted?

We used to be happy.

We used to be a kind of family.
I never felt so happy in my life.
Or at least then I never did.
You were my best friend.
You would think that difficult,
with the wires and screens seperating us.

Do you even comprehend how much you
hurt us? How much you destroyed.
Were you even aware I became addicted to
medication.  Almost killed myself.  Tore myself
apart into a bloody mess filled with tears.

Do you even think of those things?
Of the pain you caused.
With each word unspoken.
With each thought unnoticed.
I cried out to you.
I wrote to you.

Hoping it was all a lie and you would respond.
That it would be a dream.
That you really did want us.

What excuse could you possibly have
that would heal these wounds?
That would vanquish these scars.
Because you can't.

You can't at all.
They are imbedded in my soul.
The tear residue still resides.
Did you ever read the poems I wrote.
The pain I felt?

Did you even notice you were breaking
us apart.  That we were losing ourselves
among static.

I still wonder if you ever cared.
If you ever loved me, if you ever loved us.
It hurts so fucking much.
That you still piss me off.
That you still make me feel hate.
I loved you.

Like a sister or a mother.
Like a friend.
Like a soul-mate.

We were inseperable at one point.
Then now.  I can barely even think
of you without acid gathering in the
back of my throat.  I have nothing
to say to you anymore.

Nothing to feel for you but this
agonizing painful hate.  You made
me close.  You made me become
inhuman.  You caused so much woe.

We used to be happy.

I remember that laughter.
That naive little girl who hung onto your words.
You were my muse.
My idol.

You inspired so much in me.
Destroyed so much of me.

What do you expect from me?
Forgiveness?
Friendship?

How could you.
You killed everything that was inside of me.

You made me bitter.
You made me distrust.
You are the reason why I laid awake
night after night.

That my stomach was pumped full of
drugs.  That I laid on the bathroom floor.
My guts empty and the little pills floating
around in the bowl.

Can you accept that?
Can you hold the decision you made on your
shoulders?

Can you accept that you made me this way.
That you destroyed all the love I had for you.
Piece by aching piece.
I waited for two years.
Two long years.

For just a whisper.
A word.

I hung onto your name.
I hung onto the belief it was a delusion.

Didn't you hear me cry out for you?
Didn't you care?
So often, so many times a day.
Your name was on my lips.
It was twirling around in my mind.
It was sketched out with my fingers.

I painted the page with my heart.
Splashing it into words I hoped would
keep me sane.  Would keep me sober.

We used to be happy.
But, then again we used to be a lot of things.

What do you expect?

I bet it wasn't this.

You are still dead too me.