What a Doll

Rags. My entire body is made of them. You stuffed me with your dirty cotton. The fibers you’ve dabbed on the gaping wound on your chest. Soggy, crimson- almost dripping. You didn’t bother to scrape off the specks of artery, the bits of heart stuck on the strands. Now look at what you’ve done. Don’t you notice the gore?… Ah, that’s right. Your eyes are bloodshot. Your bitterness has cleaned off all of your revulsion. You can’t feel anything now. Your entire reality is focused on a singular intent.
What was it that you told yourself? That this was some sort of remedy? A homemade heartbreak doll with which to store your hardcore suffering; an epic human-shaped gris-gris of your own creation? What did you hope to accomplish with your witchery?
Forgive me. Am I laughing? I can’t help it. This is the funniest thing yet. You convinced yourself that I could make you forget your afflictions. For what? So you can move on with your maudlin existence? Pathetic.
I was a good sport, though. So by all means, you did it. As much as you pleased. As much as you needed it. You stuffed me up real good and tight. You made my face swell and my insides rip. A ragdoll for you to abuse. You filled me up with your scarlet cream until I overflowed. Filled me up with your violent impetus. But do me a favor, will you? Next time, fill me up in my throat first. I don’t want you to hear my maniacal laugh. This is one for the books, asshole. This is the most contemptible chapter yet. You got this all down to its aesthetics. Ignore me and continue. I’ll be laughing for days.
Bottom line is, you’ll never be safe. You’ll never get away from what I represent. You think your filth will disappear if you poured your sludge into an effigy and discarded it? You are small and scared.
Throw me in with the skeletons in your closet and I will still crawl out, clenching at the ground with my nails, pulling myself into the light of day. Bury me under six feet square of dirt and I will dig through it. Burn me up and I will reinvigorate.
Why do you think I’m verbal, physical, sensory? Why do you think I can spit all these vile truths remorselessly? You think you’ve killed a part of you?
No. You gave me life.
Like a recurring nightmare my torture will follow you to wakefulness. I’ll probably survive you, too. My essence will transcend the blanket in the morgue. My echo will linger above your headstone, like a black bird cawing your infirmities. The world will hear my requiem, my dreadful bliss, my evil merriment even after you’ve faded away.
You can’t kill me. I’m the specter that haunts your bedroom. I’m the spider that lurks and creeps around in your head. Don’t try to execute me. Your efforts to blot me out are flimsy. Why don’t you embrace me, instead? Who knows, I may just grant you reprieve- but I have friends who’d kill you in an instant if they only had the chance.