You Shouldn't Have Left Me

Try. On a day like this to escape the feeling. The thought that your life's eventualities are the careless manoeuvres of a hand that holds its strings. Why, you've tried every day for the last five years. How far have you gotten? Only as far as Anger. So sexy. You got angry sometimes just to feel sexy. You waited for anger's palm to run down your face. The delicate, cruel pressure of it's fingertips. On your eyebrows. On your lips.

Hello, Your Surprise, meet my Bitter Laugh. You think I don't know? The way you threw things hard enough to make a point, never hard enough to shatter?

You shouldn't have left me.

I stand up, roar a little and then collapse into a sorry heap. My own anger dies quick, fitful deaths. Anger, my dear, was my prerogative. Nature pumped it through my veins. Let me be the man here. The way you do when I pick up the tab.

I hear laughter. You say I'm imagining it. Those evenings. Those dingy bars. You walked away. I was left with nothing to work on. Except the laughter I heard. Ricocheting off the empty room and bouncing off my resentful face. That's all you knew how to do. Make a clown out of this man, a handful of years older than you. You walked away. Gathered the applause. Weren't you a hero? Your walk. Out of the bar. Out of the misunderstanding. Out of the argument. By bowing out, you drew first blood.

How much courage does it take to walk away? None. You didn't win. You resigned.

You shouldn't have left me.

I taught you pleasure. I taught you the exhilaration of a live voice. Did you know before how the roar of a crowd could push the air out of your chest and fill it with an ecstacy that was so strong it had to be endured?

You knew nothing before me.

You shouldn't have left me.

A little push. And you would arch and fall like a paper tower. Could you imagine crying as release? Without me? Remember what you said? Rainwater caressing your back on a summer night. That was all me. You owe me a lot more tears -- those drops of gasoline-- than you've let yourself cry.

I am man, you are woman. Who told you that tears were your privilege alone? Your eyes could have served you in other ways. Even if they were always darting about for exit routes. Tears must have served as great route-maps in our wasteland of passion.

What a coward you were. Mascara stained tears as ransom. I shake my head in disbelief. In disgust.

You shouldn't have left me.

 Bitch.

Your vamp's fingernails stroked my temples. Assured. Like you knew what you were doing. Your arms wound around my tense stomach. Head buried in my arms. All along you were looking for tenderness. An Achilles heel. How foolish was I? To think that the bristles on the back of my neck were important topics to be run through in our pursuit of love. Never realising for a moment that while I ran my fingers through your hair, all I had in my hand was a horrendous cliche.

You shouldn't have.

Restraint was my duty alone. Not yours. You wrote the rules well didn't you? While I thought, all along that you were only writing down verses of your misery.

A lesser man would have taught you to count your blessings with a quick lesson in pain. It isn't anything a man, even one as ordinary as I, doesn't know. The wisdom that passes from a strong hand to under one's eye.

There is time to learn. As you will. I trust him to teach you -- my replacement. The shiny new chalice for your bright anger. For your lusty inspections of weakness. For free lessons in Euphoria. That guy. The one who is better than me.

You shouldn't have left me, my love.

I should've left you.