erosion of the heart

the noise

Setting fire to this feeling that has clung on to the bones of my body and the cobwebs of my soul is a difficult task. This is murder, but this feeling is as loud as a ghost that refuses to rest. The noise this sentimental feeling creates is white noise, it pierces my ears and pieces the side of me that I am craving to kill all over again. 

As the girl I am trying to keep alive crumbles and slips like the sand of an hourglass through my fingers, the disturbance intensifies. It grows to its full height within my chest, spreading to my mind and twisting my insides inside out. This is it, I think, this is where myself caves in on myself.

It is pure, raw concentrated agony. It is hard. It is so hard to run away from who you used to be, someone you never want to meet again. But then she reemerges from underneath my skin, clawing at my flesh, demanding to be released.

And so I let her free.

She stretches her aching limbs, sharpens the edges of all my words, craft them into arrowheads and ties them around her tongue, which is the shaft of her weapon. She strings insults and lets them fly through the air, like archery, like a game. And she makes her cruelty meet the bull's eye of everyone's hearts. This monster pushes herself away and makes itself comfortable in my body. 

Myself, on the other hand, watches everything tear apart between this beastly girl's hands. I do not know what to do, I am powerless against the way things disintegrate.

I don't know how to make myself stop myself, and this is what wrecks me.