The Horror was for Love

{"We sat in the veneer of our chimney that wasn’t infinite. Eyes sealed, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. It was alluring to witness, to sense the crackling of melancholy of the conflagration. The smoke conveyed peace, it was indefinitely familiar, so familiar that I went back to my childhood. We would be in the seasonal merit where the snow would partially lay dead on the concrete floor. Where everything I enunciated was heard, understood, and relatively clear. Now, there are too many voices waiting for my demise, they are granted access when I vacate into my head. avoid it, ignore it, don’t take them seriously. I ponder and try to focus on inhaling the smoke up my nostrils. They get louder, they won’t pipe it down. I wondered if this is what transpired with society. They ridicule, and when you avoid them, they increase their rigor. Sticks and stones may break bones, but words. they punch you in the gut; and they ink into your flesh like the pigmentation of tattoos, they can’t be washed away. and no matter how much you try, you can’t escape them; you think your worth is defied by their words, but it isn't. And in the end; when love comes skyrocketing towards you, All you can do is produce a vacant stare, dead in the eye. The atrocity was for love, oh the horrors. And they can never come to accept it. Their whole world came crashing down with their downfall. What a… Catastrophe.