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New Stuff Mi Amor,
You are a malignant cancer. You’ve made your place within my heart, and you are the stabbing pain I feel within every beat. You’ve spread to my lungs, suffocating me, reminding me with every short breath I struggle to take. You’ve taken over my mind, my brain, my every thought. Increasing the pressure as you invade my skull, taking over every thought, leaving me devoid of the ability to deal with the endless joys and struggles that confront me everyday.
You win. I am at your mercy. You make your presence ever clear, ripping the same wounds in me day in and out, slamming the door at convalescence with your condescending smile. But like a cancer, you are not satisfied until you have claimed your trophy, until you have successfully devoured me, leaving nothing but a lifeless corpse.
I don’t know if you are driven by profound malevolence, or are just subject to the vacuous ignorance that conquers the space where your heart should be?
Every complement I’ve given you was in vain. Reminding you of your beauty, and my love and devotion to you. You are nothing more than a cold soulless statue. I would have gotten more warmth and tenderness from fucking a mannequin.
I pray that you have a long and healthy life. Filled with happiness and joy. And that just one day you stand in the midst of an epiphanic “retrospective clarity,” that allows you to finally see yourself as what you are.
