[Benjamin]

Hey guys thought I'd share this with you lot. It's an old piece of mine that I wrote as part of a bigger project. It's a bit morbid and depressing, so sorry if it upsets anyone.

I'm proud of this piece, although it looms better on paper than on here as I can lay it out properly on the paper.






(Perfect)



Monday:



Everything was perfect, all was what it seemed.

Good. Grand. Yes, perfect.

You smiled. I smiled. We looked at each other in the eyes and said we loved each other.

It was perfect. Yes, perfect.

You kissed me. I kissed you. We took each other in our arms and made love to each other.

It was perfect. Yes, perfect.





Tuesday:


Rain. Haven't had any in a while.

You left the house. You didn't want to.

I didn't want you to.

But you left. You had to. I sat on my bed and watched you walk in the rain.

I missed you already. I wanted to shout I love you through the window.

But I didn't. Foolish.

Hours passed. The rain didn't.

I wrote and wrote, poems pouring like the cold rain outside.

Then I saw you. I sat on my bed and watched you walk in the rain.

I waited for you....

Nothing.

You were probably making polite conversation to everyone downstairs.

But you weren't. Foolish.

Hours came and went. You didn't.

I waited and waited, my eyes drawing heavy like the clouds outside.

Then I saw you. I lay in my bed and watched you walk into my room.

You looked tired. You came to give me a hug and a kiss.

I could smell it. I could smell the green gold on your clothes,

and your breath. Foolish.

I kissed you back, then said I was tired.

I lay there, listening to the rain and your breathing.

You slept.

I cried.




Wednesday:



Something wasn't right. I could sense it.

I looked around, but you were still here.

I was glad. I lay back down beside you.

I hugged you and felt your warmth.

(for the last time)

But I could still sense it.

When you awoke and left, I sensed it more.

But I didn't say anything. I never do.

You stayed at yours that night.

I went to bed alone, still something was not right.





Thursday:



I woke up alone. That was strange.

I did not see or hear from you.

You were busy.

Had work to do. Needed to catch up with friends.

Nothing to worry about. Fine. It's fine.

But yet, yet it wasn't.

Yesterdays senses seemed to clutch at me more.

Their cold fingers intruding my thoughts throughout the day.

I convinced myself everything was fine.

Yes fine, everything's fine.

But yet, yet it wasn't.





Friday:



Alone again in bed. No morning cuddle.

No strong embrace to reassure me that this will be a good day.

I could still feel that something was not right.

I decided to share this with you.

I sent you a text saying we need to talk.

No response. Then I knew.

Drifting. Drifting apart. That was what was happening.

Surely not, but yet that was exactly what was happening.

Finally you responded. You were hungover, you'd been out the night before.

That suprised me. You didn't tell me.

Drifting apart.

You said you would meet me at four.

You didn't.

I waited. And waited. Still you didn't come.

Hours passed (again). This felt like deja vu.

Finally you showed up.

I was angry by now, but most of all I was disappointed.

You'd been on the green gold again.

I couldn't look you in the eye.

I couldn't even talk to you just in case I said something I did not mean.

Maybe I should have.

You spoke.

I listened.

I felt my world being taken away.

You sat and smiled, while I cried inside.

You said this was not working.

You said you didn't want a relationship.

I had so many responses I did not say.

Why then did you win me over?

Why then did you pursue me?

You didn't even have the courage or respect to talk to me without resorting to getting high first.

You bastard!

I spoke to save my pride. I didn't even try to fight for you.

I'd already lost you.

I agreed with you, painfully, but I agreed.

Silence.

My eyes looked at the floor.

You asked for a cigarette. I gave you one.

Then you got up. You had to go out for the night again.

I watched you walk out the door.

I watched it close.

We were over.

Just like that.

I wept.

I wept more than I have ever done for anything or anybody.

I felt numb.

It had taken me so long to trust you. Everything had been perfect.

Maybe it hadn't. Maybe I just did not want to see that it wasn't.

Foolish. So foolish of me.

Why did I not fight for you?

There was still time?

Maybe you had not meant it.

I needed a plan.

I looked around my room frantically.

Perfect. It would all be perfect.

I saw the medication on my windowsill, and the bottle of vodka you had left here days before.

Perfect. It would all be perfect.

I sent you a message.

I know you recieved it. The delivery report told me that much.

Perfect. It should have all been perfect.

But yet it wasn't

I swallowed the medication, eased down my throat by the bitter vodka.

It would all be fine. I knew you would come before anything happened to me.

You would stop this.

But then I got worried. What if you came and I was fine?

I took more. I took the rest of the medication, just in case.

More vodka too.

I clutched at a photo of me and you from the Christmas before and lay down on my bed.

It was all going to be fine. Perfect.

Time passed, I don't know how long, but time passed.

I began to feel drowsy, sleepy, tired and my stomach hurt.

I didn't care. It was worth it. I knew you would come to save me.

It would all be perfect again.

My eyes were giving into drowsiness and I looked at our photo before closing them.

(this was my last vision)

I could hear the wind blowing the leaves on the trees outside.

The pain grew. I could bear it though. Not much longer now.

It would be perfect.

I tried to open my eyes. They refused to grant me this wish.

I began to cry again. Hapiness, sadness, regret. Crying for all these things.

I don't know how long it had been, but surely too long.

Why had you not arrived yet? You would save me.

(Perfect. It would all be perfect)

But you didn't.

You never came.

The pain did, but you never came.

The pain of the medication and vodka was nothing compared to the pain of realising you were not coming.

But still maybe you would. I kept thinking this. Hoping you would.

I loved you.

But by now it was too late. Too late for anything.

All I ever wanted was for things to be perfect.

So I began to imagine they were.

We had our house, our children, our happy lives.

We travelled, made love and grew old with each other.

Perferct,

It's all perfect...