Kinder To Me.

I never saw it coming.

I should’ve, but I didn’t.

And it just happened one day.

I turned on the faucet and watched the hot water run.

I would’ve been kinder.

I would’ve been kinder had I not noticed how her hair had begun to look familiar.

How she walked, with the same bored but superior expression on her face.

How each laugh, smile, chuckle, frown, and expression was carved similarly to a tee.

The way she spoke, her intonation, the roll of the tongue, the meticulously chosen words.

The dewy smirk on her face as she flirted, the casual flick of the eyelids as she looked up at her mark, just as I do.

Everything as I do.

I would’ve been kinder if she hadn’t decided to cut her hair like mine and colored it the same.

I would’ve been kinder if she didn’t laugh my laugh, use my words, take my voice.

I would’ve been kinder if she didn’t wear my fucking clothes, skin and face.

I stare away from the water and make out my reflection on the fogged up mirror.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

She cowered as I look at her.

I kept looking, looking.

Her eyes wide, fearful and guilty, and she fumbled.

Fumble rumble tumble, dear, fumble rumble tumble.

The replica of me began to melt and her expression becomes her own again.

My nails dug into her flesh and I‘m certain it hurt I had her arm gripped so tight.

Let go.

She tugged at her arm.

Let go let go let go.

I let my nails dig deeper, harder, tighter.

I would’ve been kinder.

I would have listened as she cried and whimpered.

I would have loosened my grip on her beating heart.

I would’ve let her walk away with a limp instead of a bullet hole.

I would’ve even respected her if she had tried for a coup d’état.

But she decided to become me.

Well, something’s gotta give.

I smiled in satisfaction and place my bloodstained hands under the hot running water.

“It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak.”
William Shakespeare (Macbeth, Act III Scene IV).

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