The Blame I Cannot Hold Anymore

Again and again
I've turned on myself,
stabbing my own back,
ripping out mine own heart,
leaving my cold corpse
in gutters cluttered
with the blame I've clutched
like a mother does her child,
putting my love and passion
into pent up contempt
for myself.
But this is a blame
I cannot hold anymore,
too scalding to touch.
Sliding through the blood
it left on my palm,
it now falls at my feet,
glowing amid the rubble
and turmoil of my past.
I feel the pit
that has settled in my stomach
lift away,
crawling out of
piles of partial digested food,
a blob of self loathing
whose exit mat finally
allow me to eat without fear
of nauseating emotions
settling in my food,
a new species of fly
that feeds from your torment
rather than your table.
It sloughs off my skin,
this agony that has
clutched to my chest,
a festering wound
that refused to heal.

And as I step away,
struggling to turn my back
on what has become
a part of me,
I see that this blame
was never mine to keep,
no matter how much
I might try to convince
myself otherwise.
It had seemed so much easier
if I could pin it all on me;
then, it could be something
that I might fix,
a broken toy
that could be rebuilt
after finding some new parts.
But I've shopped for long enough,
and those pieces will never
reach my workshop,
as they were never meant to.
I'm done repairing
that which was never cracked,
as there's nothing more I can do
to mend the damage.


"No, I don't hate you,
don't want to fight you,
You know I'll always love you
but right now I just don't like you"
-Relient K