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Wasted years, spent trying to mold myself into the frame of their expectations and desires. Stripped myself of my starry-eyed dreams, replaced it with open wounds for them to pour salt over and into; My choice, never yours, no, I know my choices were never yours.
Left the holes in my chest untended for you to drive your hurtful words through, over and over and over and over. But with binding string of fate I tied your finger to mine. Red ichor pours from it. My blood is but fear of the sight of yours. My blood is dirty from my ties and mistakes.
I am worthless. But you are all who gives me peace. I hand you the gun and jail you for a crime I forced you to commit. The pull of the trigger comes at the expense of my pride. I repay your lenity with atrabilious delirium and yet, you stay.
I, unworthy child, You, tenacious lover. Self-love is for the privileged; We are but fools with hearts full of spite.
image: pipaluq, red string of fate, society6, www.society6.com
