Let Not, The Past Keep you Blind
She could not be bothered anymore. Her heart has no room for the petty actions of those she has given her heart to.
She now sits with animosity upon her toward love, like the Devil toward God. She burns with eagerness to bring herself to a state of benumb from her emotions. She wishes to be like that of blood-lusting vikings upon shores, casting nothing but a blade in her hand. Cutting all connection with even the slightest taste of love.
She sits with wine tossed back in her loathing belly. Feeling everything in her ache with resentment. Her tears have grown stale and her heart like steel. She follows no one, nothing, but the urge to merely exist. To take hold of her day with outrage and scream till her lungs burst. Leaving her mute from the pain that sits inside.
Her eyes are no longer driven to the beauty of life but toward the shadows that linger at her window. Tapping with intentions to draw her closer. Till she no longer feels of herself and grows roots deep in poisoned soils, never to drink from clear rain.
Boiled is her joy for love. Contempt is where she places the rhythm of her heart. Only the drunkest wines gush through her veins. Her breath stained of cigarettes and sorrow, finding any addiction to alleviate the love she still has for another.
She bleeds within as scorched lands of broken love shrivel tighter beneath her skin. She can still feel the paradise she thought she found. A paradise where the sea was clearer than the sky. And her soul drifted with pleasure like the smokes of opium.
A drug was he, filled with devilish characteristics. But hidden beneath the shell of an angel. Knowing what words to lure of his tongue to bring her in. To coax her into spiritual torment. Prodding at her love like a doctor to a patient. Finding the pressure that brings just enough pain to find weakness.
And she was profoundly enthralled by his heart, his voice, his engraved tongue of agony. For she too, stood in this world with misery exploiting her soul. But with blindness in her own pain, she followed with open arms. Ignoring the dull shiver that whispered her to abandon this devil.
But love had been so feeble for far too long. And he was the taste of life for her once more. But idle in his love for her. He wore her like a trophy, like coat to keep warm. Emptying her pockets till nothing was left. Draining her of any smiles she had stored for rainy days.
And now, now she sits tortured by two ends of burning wick. Watching with wide eyes and malice upon her lips. As the heat inches with each passing tick of a hasting clock.
But though love be fickle in its choice for two. Though she burns with rage like flames of a forest, though she finds herself glutton with wine.
There, in the distance, in the bleakness of it all. Sits a heart, beating with purity to take her hand. But the misery and suffering that she gives company too, must be left to the burning forests of her rage.
Thank you for reading! When has the past kept you from the glories of love or life?
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