Page 39 of Pretty Black

My mind stirring like the deepest of currents.

Crashing at the shores of my sanity,

Determined to drown reality.

I can’t let go of this idea of you.

And even crying on the bathroom floor,

As empty as I ever thought I could be,

I still can’t forgive myself for the idea of us.

Hope rotting my brain like an infection.

Holding on to this idea of you.

I’m dying slowly.

I can feel my soul going.

It might be a needle in my arm or heartache or your harm.

If this were easier, I’d already be gone.

I hope the ghost of me will forever haunt

This life you wrought

Detach.

Subtract the beauty and pain.

Aren’t they the same?

Where’s the peace in letting go?

Why can’t I destroy all the thoughts of you?

I’d burn myself to the ground to be rid of you.

And it’s not enough.

It won’t ever be enough.

Let it be enough.

We’re through.

Spare me any more thoughts of you.

The raw acappella vocals destroyed me. He didn’t need a single line of melody or backing music to rip my heart from my chest. Iris was the music. He belted every line like they came directly from his blood. Like the melody was already inside him. We all stared, witnessing Iris evolve. He didn’t need any of us, and maybe he never had. He took every one of us along for his ride, and he reminded us with every word.

We stood in stunned silence when he took off the headphones and looked at our producer.

“How did that sound?” he asked when no one spoke.

“Wow,” was all our producer managed.

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