Clown
There is anger raging in my heart. A stone lodged deep within my chest. Some days it swells into a boulder, others, it dwindles to a pebble. Yet I don’t know which is worse. It is built from your cruel words, wrapped tight in your selfish acts. Your name is etched deep within it, and it feels as though your hands took pleasure in placing it there so carelessly. There is no comfort in this rage,
No fire left to burn you down, and yet I still do not know how to rest from it. It has become a part of me. It serves no purpose, but only echoes the pain you willingly carved into me.
You fooled me for so long, I imagine you laughing, watching me believe your shameless two-faced lies. You try to silence those who see through you. You are a master of twisting the truth into shadows, burying light. Your trick, a masterful illusion, your treat the ruin left behind. How entitled you must feel lost in the darkness you have spun, a self-made protagonist, surrounded by those you pretend to love. Threading deceit into careful webs, lacing your lies with whispered charm, all for the fragile ego you guard, desperate for validation that will
Never last.
You made me the clown in your circus. As you rewrote the script to support the nightmare you played out on me. Stripped bare, left defenseless, and easy prey for the ugly vultures, eager to feast on my downfall. The same hypocrites who once turned away with such ease, are now drawn to my misery, not to my sorrow , not for justice but to silence their own pitiful despair.
The shallowest of friends, finding joy in the dance upon my grave.
You are ordinary, your words forgettable , your tactics old, leaving me used and uninspired. Now a new mask adorns you, a reflection of all you tired to take from me. My brilliance, my light, my very essence worn as if it was yours to claim. And now I see. You had to break me, because you could never truly become me.
Copyright ©
Adam Taylor
|