If You Ever Hurt Me Again

If you will ever slap me in the face again, do it with so much force. The kind of physical coercion that will fracture me to my brains, enough to wake up the stagnant neurons that has been automatically shut off the moment I met you.


If you will ever punch me again, hit me with an uppercut, a hit so hard it will break a rib or two, so that a jagged edge of a cracked piece could somehow lacerate my lungs and make my every intake of oxygen agonizing – a painful reminder to not breathe for your own terms anymore.

If you will ever beat me again, do it with the rhythm of your thumping heart, so that every repeated blow will leave me bruised and battered – visible souvenirs that will take weeks of healing before I could be unblemished once again. But of course I am far from flawless, that’s what you always say.



If you will ever press my body against the wall again, pin me down so hard that you will render me breathless. Make me gasp for air as I fight for my dear life, the way I fought to keep you by my side.



If you will ever kick me in the gut again, stomp on it this time. Make my insides compact so that my bile will rise and I will throw up your favorite dinner I so lovingly prepared.



If you will ever throw me to the bed again, hurl me against the wall instead. Make sure you will knock the living daylights out of me, too unconscious to feel anything at all.



If you will ever push me out the door again, shove me so rough and bang it with an ear-shattering thud. Gather my clothes in a suitcase and hail me a cab. Do not leave the windows open and do not carry me back to our bed in the middle of the night when you find me sleeping on the front porch.



If you will ever smash my heart on the floor again, please throw away the tiny million pieces where I can no longer reach it. Feed it to the dogs, or flush it down the toilet because you knew once I find it, I will only gather the fragments, tape it up and put it back in your hands later on.



If you will ever leave me again, do not come back to me. Do not show up at my doorstep at 2 in the morning, drunk and lonely. Do not call my friends and ask where in the world I am. Do not drop by my office just to say hi. Do not send me roses because I truly hate them but I never told you that. Do not beg that you will change for the better. God knows how many times you promised but failed.



If you will ever hurt me again, do it with all the brutality you could muster.



So that I will get fed up.



So that I could ran away for good.



So that I could rush myself to forget.



So that I won’t come running back to you tomorrow, next week, a few months later, after three years, or in my next life.