We should have hired a surgeon to cut us carefully apart.
We must have done it the wrong way.
Surely this is the wrong way to do it.
Nothing about it feels right.
Nothing feels right anymore.
Not a damn thing feels right.
My knees weaken with disgust at things I used to like doing.
I turn away from my enjoyment in hopes of finding something that helps.
I cannot be consoled, only occupied.
All the rest is pain. Pain and aversion.
We're apart, that's how you say it should be. But we're not. Not yet.
We're still pulling
And pulling and pulling away.
And it hurts and itches.
The skin has stretched and broken, but it's not all we share.
Organs and sinews, important tissues,
Hanging on by mucus-y strings.
More harmonic pieces that snap off every moment.
I wonder as we force ourselves further
who will end up with what?
Were we attached by too much?
Everything that I do
Starts to remind me of you.
I try to pull away too. Do my part in this affair.
But there are ligaments of you twitching in me, like a puppet's strings.
There are organs of you pulsating in unexpected places.
Did you take bits of me with you?
Have you removed them all?
Do they hurt forever?
Will you keep any of them, in the end?
There's a place in us, for someone. A sudden, violent, vacuous void.
But apparently not for each other.
I want to cry, or scream, or choke,
But my mouth and throat must have been pulled off in mitosis.
I wish sometimes my eyes were taken too.
Which side of the wishbone did you get?
Mouths that aren't mine mock me from within.
Should we ever have been this close?
Is it this disgusting every time?
I am put off by everything.
Every part of the room is coated in something.
We are ever so unseemly creatures.
Why does everyone do this?
Why did I ever do this?
I fell for it.
I tricked you.
I'm sorry.
I take stock mentally, if such a thing can be done.
What parts of me are left, uncrushed, unstretched?
I wonder every moment how long this will take to heal.
But that's putting the heart before the arteries
Because the wound is not done opening.
We're not done Pulling.
~~~
In light of recent conversation, I was inspired to make a poem! A song would've been more pleasant, but I couldn't think of a lot of things that rhyme. That, and there were already songs that cover the broad spectrum of emotions involved with this. Though I did notice that there weren't any songs that covered the certain finer points of feeling... Rotten and uncomfortable, I suppose. I decided to write a bunch of freeform metaphors instead, since there were a bunch of sentences that I felt really got the feeling across, but none of them had the right amount of syllables, and everything I tried to rhyme with them felt like filler.
