---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “The Hive” Down in the Dirt (v137) (the June 2016 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book A Stormy Beginning the Down in the Dirt Jan. - June 2016 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2016 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Chamber (the 2016 poetry, flash fiction, prose & artwork anthology)		get the 420 page poem, flash fiction & prose collection / anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

John

Jazmine Dorsey

    “Carla, you’ve gotta find people worth suffering for.”
    Today, marks the anniversary of when he first said those words to me in his baritone voice and ever since then, they’ve replayed in my head like a poisonous melody. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me and the anguish colliding through my physique has me realizing that the last petal clinging to life on this frail peduncle will determine my fate, he loves me not.

I don’t want to be loved. Make that quick kiss last
I don’t want to make love. Touch my body with lust

    2 Years Later
    As the northern sun spills through my bedroom curtains I am ingested into my phone roaming through my newsfeed on Facebook and by surprise there he is. 2 years ago I gave up and I found myself attending the funeral of our dead love. Is it crazy that I remember the environment of our first hug it felt like a bullet wound to the chest, he hit me that hard. I believe that’s when it happened. I’m not the type to fall but the kill in his smile, the population in his eyes for me, and the passion in the dimple on his right cheek is the reason why I continuously betray myself saying that I’ll given up, but I stay in love, why?

    I believe we nurse infinite possibilities to rekindle our demised love. I believe that we can be what we used to be, you and me the happier version. But then I remember he loves me not and I’m in the pursuit of trying to fix something that he doesn’t even see is broken. I’m tossing and turning on the edge of my bed with my phone glued to my hand. I try to continue to scroll through my newsfeed but my demanding hands won’t allow me to delete the image of him on my screen. He loves me.
    July 18^th 2012, “Carla, I love you so much.”
    This is the first day he said he loved me. He said he loved me. He said it dammit! The violins were playing a soft melody that day, but he recited those lyrics with no music.

    I dart over to my bedroom mirror and all I see in the reflection of this glass is a silhouette of the different positions in which we made love. My emotions take control and I lose it. When I regain my rational consciousness I see a shattered mirror, splattered blood, and I feel excruciating pain throbbing from my right hand.

Make that quick kiss last. I don’t want to be loved
Touch my body with lust. I don’t want to make love

    I fucking hate him, I fucking hate him. He loves me not. I reach down with my left hand to grab my phone, I quickly tap on his Facebook profile and click message. He loves me.
    Dear John,
    My words read:
    I fucking hate you, I fucking hate you. Look what you did to me. Some people they’re just worth suffering for, huh? Well, I wish nothing but the worst for you!

    My body temperature is 212 Fahrenheit. My palms are dripping raindrops. From the vibration of my quivering fingers, I hit the power button without clicking send. She loves him, she loves him not, she loves him.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...