You're pulling the trigger

And the Gun, is in my mouth.
A subtle annoyance, laced with disgust.

I was really worried after I sent my English coursework to my teacher last night. When I spoke to her today she really loved it, she said "It's real isn't it? I can tell when things come from the heart." Damn right it came from the heart! The more I read it the more I hate it, I tried so hard to squeeze so many metaphors and imagery in there it's swimming with them:

No longer am I fluent in your features.
I struggle to maintain my limited images of you. You seem to blur and break before my eyes and I am helpless to stop the destruction that comes with your absence. Where you once stood is now vacated and empty, with no one to take your place and nothing to ease the tiresome pain. Regret and “what ifs” follow me around, snapping relentlessly at my heels with no thought for my feelings. The trust and hope I once had in you are left in tatters, bruised and battered. When I imagine your smile, it no longer emits the satisfying warmth that overwhelmed me many times before. Your humour now patronises and annoys and that streak of stubborn nags at my temper like an unruly child. Your simple immaturity that has only recently become so evident now accompanies my thoughts of you.

I am the one that feels like a foolish youth again, bashful in the wake of pathetic behaviour. In my mind you look down at me with an irritating impatience. Your eyes have morphed into something unrecognisable; they are now distant, accusing and cold in their icy blue stare, laced with unfair distrust and calm, arrogant disdain. I can only hope that it is my imagination that conjures this hate.
The voice that once comforted me now plays tauntingly in my head like a stuck record, repeating and reminding constantly, playing from memory. The words skip and dance into new meanings. Your deep accent still makes my heart skip a beat, but the feeling is no longer comfortable. Your words that previously meant the world now dissolve into the dark of meaninglessness. Some are trapped in your promise; adamant in their naivety that they will be fulfilled. Others come with cruel intentions that bring stinging waves of doubt and despair crashing down on top of me.
Perhaps I imagined you; it seems possible now that you seem to have disappeared completely. You were the sweetest dream laced with an unfortunate, sour ending that has left me cringing, with a nasty taste in my mouth. The distance that you have forced between us does not make anything more bearable for me. I miss the thought of you caring. I hate that I’m no longer on your mind.
Take a moment to pause in your indignant haste to erase me all together. Watch as my finger follows your shadow that appears; notice how it falters too many times for you to be real anymore. Note how it lingers with optimistic hope, lost in another world that has stopped listening or believing, and is now intent on thoughts of successful perseverance. You’re oblivious to the obvious and my frustration at this boils over. I’m silently pleading for forgiveness for a petty crime that I was already forgiven for. Is this your cold revenge? I’m aware my apology is such a regular visitor; the gesture would now travel straight through you. Today I mean it with all my heart. I need to mend all that is broken.
I know you expect me to forget, but for the time being this is proving to be a seemingly impossible task. I feel like I’m trapped in your web, though you’re unaware I’m there and so I’m ignored, squirming alone in this misery, unable to tear apart the bonds that bind. I try in vain to persuade myself to release the feelings of betrayal and disappointment whose hands have been suffocating me slowly. I hope soon I will wake up without the false hope that today will be the day you realise what could have been and that I will come to terms with what is now. In my mind I force myself to snatch my hand away from yours where it rests, as not for the first time, it scolds me like a hot iron. How many times will I allow you to let me down before I finally push your boat from the shore and into the mist that will permanently separate us? Part of me knows you still have that kindness which, despite it being momentarily shaded by my bitterness, is still lurking somewhere. I’m close to appreciation that I know you walked away because you didn’t want to hurt me anymore than you already had done.