The blade cuts to the bone,

And me with my hand wrapped around the hilt.

I plunged my cold steel into your heart and fell faint upon seeing the river of vermilion pour out over my fingers.

Who the fuck am I? No, really, who am I? I’m not sure who I was tonight.

But I guess I was me. I was the same me who makes bad decisions, the same me who overcame adversity, the same me who has been happy and destroyed and complacent.

Because even when you’re acting out of character, you’re still you. You don’t change form into some ugly monstrosity so that at least everyone is aware.

You wear the same face, you are the same you as the good parts, as the silly ones and sad ones, too.

Accountability isn’t being able to count. It’s making sure you recognize your faults, your fuck ups, and taking responsibility for the aftermath.

A bomb dropped in my world, tonight. A bomb I built with my own idiotic ideals and my lack of caring. A bomb I dropped upon the foundation we were pouring.

It was a grand foundation, with trust and love. Honesty and candor. A strong concrete slab upon which a home we’d build.

And I’m cleaning up the crater I left. I’m filling it in and I’m fixing the landscape. And then maybe we can pour the foundation again.


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