A Murderous Wanderer
Your trifled need to be callous upon each heart you seek is sickening. One such as you, could even wear exhausted the wood of a white oak with the rotting of your touch. Your collection of the damned is far from acceptance of pity.
It is false approval to your petulance to play hearts. Stringing them like teeth to be worn as a necklace; showing of warriors mementos. You act as if you hail no ill will in the kissing of lips, that in the mystery of your heart, is kindness. But I see the darkness that copulates with your rituals, your soul.
You blend well in a crowd of broken. Plucking the helpless, you stalk in warnings of ides of march. Curating or pogrom of hearts. Mass graves you create, yet you smile; watching as souls weep.
Burying them beneath the soils you tend. Growing roses from the aching, the helpless, but roses of black. Burnt from the misery of hell at which you find your nourishment.
Your cloak of romance, you perform well. Your crooked lean in the busy streets of moon lights dusk allures beauty that cries. Shattered in the deepest sense and you crawl like scum from the alleys to console.
Foolish these young hearts as they indite you upon their skin, their lips, and their heart. Only to end in the wishing for extraction of memories shared with you. But you strewn your wounds upon them.
You place your afflictions within them, squirming your tongue between the seams of their hearts. So that you may elate yourself from the torment that echoes so loudly within.
But elated for only a moment; for these hearts are but temporary remedies of neglected lesions of the soul. Though you are grasped in the fury of Hades, there is no excuse for the slaying of the young. Nor the misdirection of the feeble hearted.
You have chosen your path and it is a lonely one. The crows fly high, waiting in the hunger of your fall. I can only hope that one day, I can peel the words I once gave you from my heart. and forgive myself; for allowing a devil into my home.
Thank you so much for reading, I truly appreciate and hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
When has the trickery of another wounded you? How did you recover, or have you?
More soul staking stories in my debut book, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon: The Bleeding Of Words
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