Every part of my body burned when I finally put the razor blade back into the box in my cupboard. I sat and continued to stare, my stomach tickling as the blood began to trickle down slowly. I looked down at the "DEAD" that was painstakingly engraved and wondered what the hell is wrong with me. It wasn't that she left, she's just a convenient excuse for all of this; I think. Clarity would give me the answer I'm sure; but if that's what it takes, I'd rather wallow in my intoxicated ignorance.

What was I to you? Or to anyone else for that matter? It's always the same, isn't it? What is it about me that everyone seems to see, that I can't? I stood up and pulled the 7 foot tall bookcase to the ground, scattering the contents of the shelves on the floor; revealing a full sized mirror that had been hidden behind for years. I saw my pale face wrinkled and scarred. I saw the glassiness in my eyes from the alcohol, the blood on my chest, stomach, legs, and arms. And I saw that in all my strength, security, and arrogance how pathetic, week, and selfish I really am. The tears began to stream down, even as my face remained completely emotionless.

When I could not look any longer I picked a drumstick off the floor at my feet and threw it into the mirror and watched the reflection of myself shatter and fall to the ground into hundreds of tiny fragments that continued to look back at me from the floor. I immediately turned and pulled down the bookshelf on the other side of the room, snagging the cord to the heater of one of the tarantula's cages. One side of the cage shattered when the cage hit the ground and Isis ran for shelter beneath the bed. I picked up a vase of dried roses and threw it at the door sending fragments of glass flying, and roses crumbled to dust as they fell to the floor. My rage continued as I wrenched every picture, art piece, and poster from my walls, sending them flying across the room into the opposite wall, or tearing them into pieces. I threw the already broken floor-speakers into the wall and watched them explode into splinters of wood. With one last determined scream I pulled the drum rack down, and threw my snare drum across the room into my computer monitors.

There wasn't much left standing when I finally collapsed onto my water bed. The water began to pool to where I was laying from the numerous leaks, and I reveled in the pain as the water touched my cut flesh. I began to shiver as my body became wet, but I didn't care enough to move. And as I laid there, the tears still streaming, my face still void of any emotion, I lost myself again in the confusion of how I ended up this way. But I know that the wheel keeps turning, and there can't possibly be anywhere to go now but back up…

Everything was barely a whisper when I finally opened my eyes. Darkness was creeping over like a cancer again and I felt a tremor in my head. Whatever I had dreamed during the night dissolved away as I sat up, lit a cigarette, and washed down the better part of what was left in the bottle of rum. I laid back down, not taking my eyes off the pieces that laid scattered on the floor of every life that I prayed in vain for.

I whimpered softly as I waited for the alcohol to start the de-cleaning process, to flush away the clarity that sleep inevitably brings. And just when I could no longer take anymore of staring at the mess of us strewn on the floor I began to feel myself fading away again into the numbness that I've grown so comfortable in. I rolled myself up off the couch, my feet greeted by the 5 inch thick layer of beer cans, paper, garbage, pieces of plaster fallen from the ceiling, old clothing, destroyed furniture, pill bottles, crusty and moldy dishes and utensils, empty boxes, broken glass, and cigarette butts that covered the floor of the house.

When I stumbled into the kitchen I found her sitting in the corner of the room next to her pile of syringes, razorblades and broken mirrors. She looked up at me and I could see the two streaks down her face, reddened and stained by the tears from another one of her nightly attempts to feel something at all.

"I'm leaving again" she whispered. I stood in silence as I watched the frozen breath in which she had pronounced those words escape and dissipate in a cloud of vapor and apathy. I poured myself another drink and walked upstairs and collapsed on the broken bed covered in books, magazines, and boxes. I can't pretend that I ever loved her, but I can pretend that I don't need her. I laid for what felt like hours before I finally heard her walk out the door for the last time.

And I have to wonder if you would cry with me if you could see me now? Or would you just sit and laugh at how hard I had to work just to get to be the mess I am today?

The lamp in the living room flickered violently as I sat on the filthy couch curled up into a little ball. Not a thought was in my head as I stared blankly at the floor, paralyzed in a drunken haze that I'd been lost in for weeks. I watched another bug climb out of an old beer can and scuttle beneath a pile of paper on the floor, rousing the alarm of a mouse that bolted and disappeared in the ruins of an armchair destroyed years ago.

I shivered as I pulled the crusted blanket up around me while I continued to stare in the pulsating light from the last working fixture in the house. She was late again, but I never even gave it a thought. I laid my head back down on the arm rest and took in the smell of mold that ruptured from beneath my head. I continued to shiver despite the fact that I was too numb to feel cold. I picked up a glass from the floor in front of me and quickly guzzled down whatever the hell was left in it.

I heard the door creak open slowly and the familiar sound of her footsteps as she walked in, shutting the door behind her. I didn't move as I watched her walk in, her hair tussled, a smile of temporary content on her face, her underwear hanging out of her back pocket. She paid even less attention to me than the half-starved cat that made its' home in the only livable corner of the room. She continued to wade through the junk on the floor to the kitchen, swearing when she stepped on another piece of broken glass. I heard her pour out 2 drinks. When she returned she handed one to me as she curled up next to me on the couch. I could still smell his cologne on her as I choked down the liquor.

I fell into another stare as I watched the cat trying to find the mouse that ran beneath the broken chair. She ran her hands through my hair, gently rubbing my scalp as another unannounced tear trickled from my eye. I reach behind the armrest and pull up the bottle of Rum to wash down another handful of sleeping pills to usher another iteration of the cycle: sleep, wake, drink, argue, repeat. Of everything that I used to be, of everything that I've had, of every dream that had crossed paths with me, I still don't understand how I ended up this way.

And despite all of your denials, I know that deep down somewhere inside you're laughing that I finally got what I deserved.

Cedar Rapids always looked so beautiful when viewed from the rear-view mirror, the passenger seat occupied by a bag of beef jerky, carton of Marlboro's, my laptop, my iPod on shuffle, and the moon roof open despite the 30 degree weather. The music cranked up so loud that I can't hear myself singing along, the gas tank on full, my body running on E. I've finally managed to wiggle the noose off from around my neck, and I'm running as fast as I can.

You're in Paris for a year, and I'm on my way to… God only knows where. I just know that it has to get better than this; anywhere but here. And how often have we found ourselves here, somehow drowning in a love that wasn't even an inch deep. We spend a month of intimacy followed by three to twelve months of silence, putting as many miles between us as possible. Promises lost their meaning within a month of our first meeting four years ago. That doesn't seem to stop us from our incessant creations of more empty vows.

How many more hearts should be broken by our inability to ever let go of something we've never even had? It's taken me six months to finally realize that you're never coming home, and with that knowledge I guess it's time that I stopped looking back. But the snow-covered landscape looks more beautiful as it gradually fades out of my rear-view mirror. Everything has changed, just like we swore it never would. You're in Paris for ever, and I'm on my way to nowhere, but I know that even nowhere has to be better than here…