F you

Your moving on, choosing someone who was not me, hurt like a white hot knife to my gut.

At first I denied the pain, startled that I meant so little to you. I tried to ask you to show or tell me that I meant more.

You said that I meant just enough.

Then the knife began to burn the edges of my skin at the wound. Tears stung my eyes and I asked for you to remove it, to stop the pain.

You did nothing. You acted like it was not even there, that it was all in my head. You pushed ahead, talking around my cries of anguish or not even acknowledging my pain.

Finally, my anger burst through as I died. I howled in rage, seeing you with eyes tinged red from literal broken blood vessels as well as figurative fury. I hated you with all the fire in my belly, now ripped open and oozing guts.

Then I fell forward onto my face.

You asked if everything was okay, but I was flaccid and quiet. Pressing forward, you continued with your chosen life, mine all but snuffed out, stepping over my body.