I've grown accustomed to keeping company with the voices in my head,
which, if I am honest, are really only one; you.
But I find that most days deny me the time and strength
to admit to my own deceit.
Have you any idea of the languages that translate
deceit into defeat.
I thought not.
You are the happy dead.
Smug in the knowledge that your tombstone is as superficial
as the smile on my face when I hear your name.
Whispered with all the malicious innocence of a toddler
enchanted with a butterflies wings to the point of ripping them off for keepsakes.
If only I could find such a precocious demon
equally hell bent on possession.
But no, you are forever mine to torment,
to be tormented by.
Chipping away at stone and steel
to root out all that is vulnerable and blood.
And with every furthering advance you draw closer
to that which I fear being discovered most.
The me without you.
Author notes
SSDD. Not personal except in an off-shoot, random, divergent way.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I'm intrigued, dear. I see you in this, of course, but I don't see the situation to which it applies. Unless that was the divergent randomness that you made mention of in the note. Anywho, lovely write, as usual. Loved the idea of opposing tormentors, the equal/opposite clause and somesuches. Nicely done.
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Thank you!
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