I make a phone call.
I hang up with one more to add to the list.
Loser.
That's what I am.
It must be true.
Someone who loves me called me that.
She has always called me that.
How could I have forgotten it?
It must be true.
I stare into the mirror.
My eyes have lost their shine.
The hope that used to sparkle there is now gone.
It has been replaced with despair.
The pride that used to shine is gone.
Replaced with hate.
No one cares if I am here or not.
She doesn't.
She is the one person that should.
I stand in her way.
Therefore I must go.
Nothing stands in her way.
Ever.
I must go.
No one stands in her way.
Especially a loser like me.
I must go.
I stare into the mirror.
I reach for the blade.
I hold it to my throat.
I smile.
The end is near.
The world will soon be rid of a loser like me.
I stare into the mirror.
I lower my hand.
The blade falls into the sink.
I will not give her what she wants.
I will go but I won't go away.
She will never again control me.
I will control me.
I stare into the mirror.
I smile.
I smile because she has lost another one.
Out of nine she now has two.
Someday she will have none.
What will become of her then?
I can not worry about that now.
She made her choices.
She will reap what she sows.
As a wise man once said "It's all gonna come around someday."
I must worry about myself now.
I stare into the mirror.
I am scared.
I must depend on the kindness of strangers.
I turn from the mirror.
I reach out my hand.
I must hope someone grabs it.
If not I will fall.
I hold out my hand.
Please someone grab my hand.
I hold out my hand.
I hold out my hand.
I hold out my hand.
I hold out my hand.
Shay Kuntz
March 2001
For Louise, You didn’t beat me you miserable old bitch.