Nirvana

A Story by Ranger Nadaly

I failed. Understood. Phrasing my failure in three different ways doesn't change anything for me, I get it. I'm sitting here with patches of my once slick brunette hair in my peeled hands, and all I care about about is what you think. What are your thoughts about me? Emotions? Feelings? Are they negative?

Don't embarrass me, please. I can't take it, I can't take your finger in my space and your words in my head.

The turning of the door knob is the noise you make when you rip my heart out.

Breathe. Steady. Slowly. Inhale. Out hale. Pattern. Keep the pattern.

I feel a red glow over my body and I can't scratch it off of me. Don't take everything away from me. I want to say it. I want to mean it, but I can't. I'd love to give you the satisfaction of me begging, but I can't. My body is decaying by your presence.

Cameras are glued to my body and no matter how hard I pull and push on them they won't budge, leaving purple circles around the electrical attachment to me.

My heart isn't racing, it's given up. Left still on the floor, next to you.

I'm gaining weight. From the gore.

I offer you my attachments and addictions. They are all I have to offer.