The first man to hurt you is Envy; with cold hands and desperate teeth, he will chain you to the ground and demand you to love him. You will serve him months of your life on a rusty platter, but it will never be enough for his empty bones. You will learn that he is not the many you love when you feel empty with a ring on your finger. When he screams at you on the phone, you will tuck it in a box and not touch it for years.
The second is Gluttony; with long hair and black lips, he will dig his nails into your delicate skin and ask for more, more. But you’re scared, your heart will race with beating drums, your eyes will sting with smoke. He’ll calm your nerves with a sip of sweet tea, and you’ll let him down through a text. You’ve never felt more alone.
The third is Sloth; with a handsome grin and a taste for rum, you will make love because you’ll think you’re in love. But he rolls over with another name on his tongue, and exhales dust and dirt and you’re left to sweep it up. A few hateful words and a slammed door will put space between you two.
The fourth, and the worst, is Greed; with blue eyes and cheap jokes, you’ll get black out drunk and he will steal every ounce of happiness in your life. You still wake up in tears because of it, you still see his face two years later in every person passing by. You never thought you could hate someone, but now, hate is all you know.
The fifth is Lust; with ashes in his lungs, he will breathe life into yours and give you a happiness that nothing ever has before. But it doesn’t last long, sweetheart, because he fucks your best friends and now hate is packed in the deepest corners of your mind, in the marrow of your bones, in the veins under your skin.
The sixth is Pride; with gentle hands that have felt the most humane so far, he will brush your hair behind your ears and sing you to sleep. But the embers in your gut are too much for him, too much for yourself, and you burn the outskirts of town.
Because now, you are Anger, manifested in your blood, kept under your nails and behind your teeth. You breathe shards of glass, you sleep on coals, you survive off of wasteland ash. You throw your bloodied fists through walls, cut holes in the fabric of your skin. You try to douse the flames with poison, try to smother it with smoke but the hate is much too heavy for your brittling bones. “This isn’t what I wanted,” you cry out. But it’s late, the sun has already set.
“This isn’t what I wanted.”