The Breakup Poem

Sometimes I feel like books are the doors to someone’s mind. You can literally read how they see the world: what they daydream of when they’re not paying attention, their opinion of politics, of a sweatshirt, just by the kinds of stories they write. I had an assignment to write a break up poem a while back. It said not to be whiny or be a victim. I closed my eyes to envision how I felt when I’d broken up with someone: an image of misery.

Misery to me looked like a frozen swamp at midnight. Small bodies of fish were frozen just beneath the surface as the ice bit at my bare feet. I shivered. The moon was a huge sickish green ball, illuminating the wide spread clumps of dead grass. There were thin stumps poking out of the ice, and a thin charred tree reaching up with only one branch, where a lone crow flew down and cawed. If I died here, no one would care. If I screamed out, it would only echo, and the one living creature in this world would fly away.

It’s always my fault. If I cringe as someone touches me, they feel betrayed and my heart breaks. They writhe in agony if I tell them why. I deserve to go to hell. A frozen empty one where I can’t hurt anyone. You’re not allowed to forget something like that, how you tortured someone so thoroughly they couldn't see straight, that they forgot who they were.

So I send myself to hell and shutdown. I’m drowning in pain, and my hands instinctively go up above the water, looking for help. It’s cold, and the current tries to drag me away from where I fell through. I hold on with bleeding knuckles, waiting for someone to pull me up. If I die here, no one would care. Eventually I go numb. All I can feel is myself shivering, and a dull ache as the water becomes monotonous. Just holding on. That’s all. My vision blurs and I stare at the ice and grass as I bob, a quiet surreal world depicted in shades of grey. I’m always told I should never let go, so I don’t. I just wait, and think.