flip the tape

how many nights do you wake sweating, lungs panting, heart racing? with the scattered thumps of a broken heart beating inside the pillows under your haunted skull?

with the sound of my devastating sobs begging for you to answer my pleas?

you look to your feet and find a demon at the foot of your bed with recorder in hand—

snickering at your disappointment

when you realize, none of me still begs for you, none of me still sounds your name, none of me still lives with you, none of me still begs for you, none of me still thinks of you and, worst of all, your demon reminds you none of me still wants to.

so drown it all, the demon suggests, handing your shaking, addictive hands a glass of your royal whiskey.

you agree with bloodshot eyes and pity for your singlehanded self demise and take a swig because the recording keeps replaying and nothing can make this demon pause the tape.

angry, at everyone but yourself, you ignite the hellish flame inside your weak character as your arrogance demands control because you say with a slur to the demon with the upper hand that you’ll eject your fate.

the demon laughs and asks,

how many nights do you wake inside the Hell of your own head because you decided to hurt what was love then forgot to wipe your hands clean of the blood?

you finally look into the eyes of this demon and see your own drunk, bitter, broken reflection.

You are your worst nightmare, your own demon— and, I, the dream you decided wasn’t worth remembering…the fate you ejected instead of just flipping the tape.