For Everyone I Killed

Letters to all the people I killed.

Dear boy with the blue eyes and long lashes,

I'm sorry for the button-up, and all the calls I made while you scaled Boston and I pretended to be in love with you.

For kissing you.

I'm sorry I laced this bullet with poison and told you it wouldn't kill.  I shot you four years ago and you left it in your chest, and I'm sorry I never tried to get it out because, 

all along, 

I knew it would kill you.

To the girl with pretty skin,

It wasn't me.

He dropped your porcelain frame all over the kitchen floor. Nobody knows how to clean up the glass and I'm barefoot, it's cutting my feet, so I'm sorry I'm stepping on you, but at least you know I'm bleeding.

I'm sorry I'm so bad at looking you in the eye.

He's still wide-eyed and speechless, debris all around his feet while I'm cut open on the floor, barely a piece of his head.

You're winning, little girl.

You may be shattered but you're making me bleed and he's still searching for a way to clean you up.

I'm sorry you died when you saw it, though.

To the girl with the dark eyes that never apologized,

I forgave you the moment your name fell between the skin on his hands.

He blew up lies like helium balloons.

I'm sorry for what he told you in the backseat,

for the looks he gave you in that warm kitchen whenever I was blinking.

I'm sorry if you still believe half-truths because those are like vampires. Not real, but still terrifying.

And I know I didn't kill you, but I wish you'd stop standing under that knife

when nothing is keeping you there.

To the boy with a good smile who fell in love too easily,

You walked me to the edge of the city and you told me about death.

I know you're in love with me,

and I heard you slip it between sentences,

but my heart dealt me a hand of cards and if I don't play them, I'll lose.

You keep scaling my pictures and amusing my head with pretty words

but I ca...I can't.

I'm sorry, I shot an arrow to get your attention but Cupid must've replaced mine

and now I'm shooting you with the poison I thought I could control.

Please don't die on me.

To the boy with brown eyes and warm hands,

I'm sorry I killed you.

Every inch of my skin crawled with the impulse to slash the rope that strung around the two of us.

I know you still love me, so I'm sorry for that too.

I'm sorry you cried and I didn't.

For not opening my window while you sat there, midnight,

your bare legs lying in the snow while I tried, 

I tried to sleep.

I tied you to the wall with the rope that once fastened us together.

And I threw those dull knives, one by one, so forgive me for grimacing every time you screamed.

I'm sorry I bled you dry.

I guess I could've saved you

but something told me not to.

These weapons found a way into my hands and I'm sorry for it.

I threw them at all of you and I'm sorry.

I'm not asking for forgiveness because you're dead.

But I'm sorry.