A Cold Stone Saint

by Jason John Bartholomew

1998 & August 2017

You wanted me to be a cold stone saint, but a bad boy demon lover on alternate Tuesdays.

You wanted me to be myself, get some help, no, wait! Could I just be someone else?

No.

No. I don’t think I can.

I pray I find the courage this time to burn every bridge back to you. I’ve wasted too time watching you whine and get high and it’s time I face up to the truth: there’s no love lost between me and you.

Only spaces. Only questions. Contradictions. Bitter words full of sorrow cut to the marrow. Only anger. This resentment. Disappointment. I will burn every bridge back to you.

You wanted me to be a silent movie as you trashed and broke me down like some crash test dummy. You wanted me to come, go, no stay, pushed, pulled, this, that, every which way, never once letting it bend my way.

There’s just nothing left here between me and you.

Only hatred. Contempt. Nothing exempt. Insomnia. Fist pocked dry wall. On a bender in freefall. Only gut punch nausea. Test-tasting my revolver.

I don’t know how to …

I pray I find the courage this time to burn every bridge back to you.

)

jason john bartholomew

Written by

Word storms, poetry, some flat out lies, contemplated long form culture commentary and flashbulb flare lightning fireflies. Behold, Lightbringer!

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