Viri-descent

Everything hurts.

Shattered bones further disintegrate, until they form a powdered ash of pain

boiling in the cauldron, I lean over and allow my tears to fall in,

Further add a lock of hair from the Mistress of Folly

Now I sigh in it

It bubbles over, ghastly green

I pour it into a glass, which shatters from the heat

I consume it all, the mixture, the shards of glass

I deserve this pain, I’ll make it last

I transform, finally, as I was always destined to

Into the thing I once adamantly proclaimed to hate the most

Unkind, selfish, stubborn, alone,

I regurgitate my heart and see it writhing on the floor

until it stops moving once and for all

I compose myself and gaze into the looking glass,

What once was innocent, shall never be again.

Illusory Melancholy 

She told me that she was tired 

That she didn’t have enough energy left

To fall out of love

That everything around her seemed to be happening quickly and obscurely, while she remained frozen 

Unable to move, unable to feel 

Numb 

She thought that this feeling, this uncertainty about the choice between waiting any longer and finally moving on

That this must be the first step to some sort of closure 

She told me that it was different than how she imagined it would be

That it was somehow more painful than relieving