It is a fickle thing isn’t it; changing so suddenly and so disgracefully. There is no point in love if it is thrown in your face and decimates in front of your eyes. What you are left with is a wedding cake and a yellowing wedding dress. He isn’t the loner that survives on the past. I am. The consequences for him are nothing. Not unless I can caress him again, reach the neck and..........my hands I could strangle with. He wouldn’t see it. I would just turn on him point blank but not like the body, I won’t run. After all, I won’t have done it. Love would. Love kills. It is an explosion causing large canyons; a ticking time bomb blasting the ground around you. Then you fall, fall so far that you no longer think you are falling, but flying. That is where I am. No need for him, what a waste of time. But time has gone now. I am stuck in this place with time running without me, much like my beloved sweetheart bastard.
No more wishing. Those whispers just fade. Praying is a scream that calls out to powers. He is there and hears. It’s a last resort. God loves us all and I can’t be done with that. It leads nowhere. There is a road curving and twisting. You follow it and there is a dead end sign. Dead end indeed; the male corpse knows that now as he dangles with limbs still intact. The heart isn't the only thing that b-b-b-breaks.
No comments:
Post a Comment