Love Deformity

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic


You draw light onto my eyes, thinking that delusion can become reality. I am too busy being blinded to tell you that the truth cannot be escaped from.

Submitted: November 30, 2017

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Submitted: November 30, 2017

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~Fading~

You throw love at me like a life raft, thinking that my misery is a rushing river— I can survive.

How can I explain to you that my sorrow is a storm-tossed sea, that my throat is too busy stinging on saltwater sadness to breathe — I am drowning. 

 

You fling hope in my face like holy water, thinking that it will absolve my past—that I can be cured.

How can I explain to you that the memories flit to and from my brain like ghosts, that I am too busy suffocating on the seared ashes of long lost dreams to ever wish again—I am haunted.

~Fading~

You imprint lips against my mouth, thinking that masking my bitter with your honey will make it disappear—that I can be altered, remolded.

How can I explain to you that enfusing your essence into my body will not make it yours—I am too busy choking on the cloying syrup of your taste to tell you that sweetness does not mean sympathy.

 

You inflict touch upon me like a brand, thinking that the mark of your affection will bring me solace—that I can be assuaged.

How can I explain to you that there is such emptiness in the air between us, that I have become too busy searching for meaning in the gaps between our fingers to look for anything else—that when I stretch out for an embrace, I can only gather grief in my arms.

~Fading~

You breathe beauty over my pain, thinking that what is disguised becomes remade—I can be romanticised.

How can I explain to you that the scars may twine around my wrists like rose-thorn but it is my soul they entangle themselves in—I am too busy ripping them apart to warn you that they are only lovely at a distance- where you can’t see them bleed.

 

You pour energy over my bones like benediction, thinking that you can baptize me into being—into happiness.

How can I explain to you that suffering sits upon me like a shroud, that I could wrench apart my own ribcage and not find a heart that is worth its own beating— that I am too busy dying-- to ever actually live. 

~Fadeout~

 

 



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