Sensations of Solitude
Please don’t leave me.
The words leave a vain, bitter aftertaste on the tip of my tongue.
A fragile plea for anything but the tortuous labyrinth of solitude.
The desperation slipped out before I could even attempt feigning normalcy.
A shock that hit my bones like a physical blow.
Who have I become?
The anguish of desertion seems to leave a portal in the midst of my heart.
A portal leading nowhere but the salt of my tears.
A portal leading nowhere but the silver of my blood.
A portal leading nowhere but the burn of my combustion.
A combustion I have moulded thoroughly, with the fragility of my skin and the residual of my soul.
The moon stares back at me; expecting answers I didn’t process the questions to.
I don’t have the words to articulate it.
And perhaps that was my first sign.
My greatest strength stripped away from me, to reveal nothing but an achingly beautiful set of guts wrapped in scarred red velvet.
The luxurious elasticity cuts through my skin until it matches the crimson of the cloth.
I bleed. I pour. I fade.
Until all that is left of me is my salty tears, silver blood and an inevitable combustion.
I am programmed simply for the conviction of your destruction.
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