The Blue Monologue

I know you said you weren't trying to hurt me. I know you said you were trying to do this the best way you knew how. But when you stood there with your knife at my throat, and I begged you please, you still pressed it in. You heard me scream and beg, and you still dug deeper, until you couldn't hear me anymore. You could hear the blood gushing to the floor, the universe's way of saying you'd fucked up. But you'd already ripped out my throat, you couldn't go back from that.
But that's not what happened.
I guess it only feels like that.
I guess it only feels like I've been slaughtered at your hand.
But did you really think the best way to go about this was to bottle it up? To bottle it up for so long you thought dating me would fix it? To
That year, during the "free" period during the start of each day we were assigned to the same classes. We'd sit in our science teacher's room and learn about upcycling, or the gym and opt out of dodge ball to talk about bands or how I thought you looked like Leonard Nimoy for some reason. We'd even speculated that Spock was your dad. You got me into new music, tv shows, books, movies. You encouraged my writing, even though it was bad, you'd even done the whole banana bat thing. The last day of school we'd even had a fake sword fight with our yearbooks out of sight from everyone else.
We didn't hang out much over the summer, we didn't have a way to talk, me doing summer orchestra and you doing summer gym. When we came back for seventh grade I remember we were so happy to see each other, but we had totally different schedules. We were locker partners though, and we would write letters to each other constantly. We'd leave them in the locker and we'd giggle as we left them and then ran on to our next
She was leaving her family is what you said. She lives fifteen minutes away and you see her every week. You know what I told you, "at least she's making herself happy. That counts for something right?" But I "wasn't being comforting enough". I was trying to get you to not hate your own mother and "I wasn't being supportive." I was always there for you, you weren't there for me. When my dad was yelling and screaming at me and treating me like shit, you know what you said "yeah..." Or "oh..." Because I was complaining, and that bothered you. I tried to comfort you the best way I know how, and I'm sorry that wasn't enough for