Something I should name sometime in the near future.

{{ I don't know what to say about this piece. If you have questions, just leave a comment. This piece has NO name yet... I may never name it. :) }} ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Living with the terror that comes from facing your past mistakes. Constantly being drawn into the masquerade of health, when reality is that the body of our friendship dies. There is a reason I feel regret and a purpose for calling my past a mistake. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Not a day goes by where I do not encounter the need to draw my sword and whisper softly our tale into the ears of the eager unbelieving. No intentions of fighting you, only to rip the veil that hides the darkness within you that I feel unstable for having seen. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My heart beckons for your approvals, as my mind insistently reminds me to make it on my own. Even though it's been tainted and broken, I present my life for your smile of contentment or absolute disowning. It seems as though the painful struggle of forgiving and acting okay was just expected from me, so I have nothing else I know to offer. --------------------------------------------------------------------- You back me into corners, your harsh words draw blood, you push each and every button. Why do I run to you when my enemies are armed. What tricked me into trusting you again? On my worst days you make me laugh then instantly blindside me with your jealousy, disgust, anger and out of proportion, emotionless romantics. It's you and only you who understands but never truly knows. YOU are the source of so much of this constantly flowing joy and weakness. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You had me at your beckoning disposal, you played with the thought of having me in the palm of your immature yet steady hands until your senseless romances had lost their creativity and you simply became bored. I was thrown out of the way for a better chance at your own insecure masculine display. Though you may refuse to see the wound, things are still healing. I'm not angry, just so utterly confused by your actions and words. I've learned to expect nothing from you. I shall sit here, healing, waiting for you to finally realize that we have more to fix. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Confusion, peace, inner war, innocence, diabolical, insecure and confident. All it takes is an hour next to you and my numb life awakens to feel everything I had forgotten. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------