A Table With Two Legs

All of us humans are unstable to some degree,

We all have nicks in our beings, trauma that chips away at our sanity,

And scarred our smooth, silk, skin.

But something about you was more off than most.

You often felt like a table that had only 2 legs.

And these legs were not places in a balanced way, their placement was wonky,

Leaving you to stumble and tip all over the place.

You could not stand on your own. You always had to have someone carrying you.

I was that person for a while. It’s what I thought being a good friend was,

hell even a good person.

Unfortunately, this moral mindset I stuck to,

Led me down the dark spine of your being.

If I could describe you in one word, it’d be disturbed.

We became friends in high school

Through our mutual friend who you’d been in love with for years.

She was never fully sure about you, that killed you,

Almost literally.

Your attempts at suicide have added up.

The one time I saved you, I felt a moral obligation.

The times after, I was not in your life. I could not be.

Your being is twisted.

Your limbs didn’t know how to stay to themselves,

Your mind didn’t understand the word no.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Stop doing that!”

“Hands to yourself!”

These words disappeared into silence, the second oxygen mixed with my voice.

You refused to hear anything you did not want to.

Our most recent interaction was 2 years ago. I was DDing for you and some friends.

I picked you up first. My mistake.

Immediately after closing the passenger door you kissed me on the lips.

What the hell. Do not do that I told you.

Your laugh still echoes in my brain.

The rest of the ride your hands invaded my body, with me saying stop, and you ignoring.

It's been two years since we have spoken, you have continued to text me, message me, invade my space. I have not responded.

Since you never heard my words I figured I’d see if you could hear my silence.

You didn’t.

I finally blocked you last week.

I was sick of your name reminding me of your existence that fills me with disturbance.

I know these words do not speak to your whole being, and I am sure there is a story behind why you’re a tipsy nicked up table with only two legs,

But I can honestly say,

I do not care to know

My interactions with you have forced enough scars, triggers, and dark trauma that has stained my being for eternity.