Weeks endured in the grips of an acidic burn cast against the logic that to act is a bad idea, caustic emotions create new worlds of torture at the sight of her as every second spent in proximity is an exercise in anxious exploration of the solely destructive idea that doggedly pursues, the hunters of your sanity’s ghost in the endless bleak void of knowing demise.
The numerous assaults of fear in every putrid sickening form of failure a demon can take and multiple in number so to make sure you know; that escape from your fate is a dream and that fate will seal your doom, each depressive blast a new pain to mask the blackhole sensation that love so viciously casts upon you.
It sits at the twistedly corrupt core of the tangled forest of evil; a heart as poisonous as the nest of vipers stalking you in the blinding daylight that it sent to ensure you feel every cursed bite of love’s corrosive burn, uncertainty the fangs that deliver in the end the rejection to kill all hope.
You ask through the myriad of anxieties flames flickering with the sharpened forks that demon’s minions wield in the face of good favour and luck in the dark arts, a moment framed in hellish pause as she stalls with her surprise; Have you broken her? Did you spoil the months of good will and polite exchanges to failingly pacify the corrupted temptation to ask a singularly bad question?
“Would you like to go out with me” stammers embarrassingly from your mouth pathetically with baited breath, humiliation held in judgement by the waited response she takes forever to voice in that moment you wait; will it be rejection’s merciful let down, acceptance of the offer to release the unknown chaos you haven’t planned for or will all destruction mercilessly rain down as it goes horrifically wrong with public damnation …but it’s not yes or no she says but instead some vague inconclusive
You thought of all the ways it could go bad, but the one variation that happened
Life’s laughter ringing out as the church signalling the day of happiness you damningly only watch from the sidelines, never a hope that your beloved will be standing next to you to redeem all the wounds that eternally bleed every fractured ideal of happiness once whole with belief.
The dark mirror echoing images of the nightmare lands where you find slim salvation in the joy deposing fact that at least the demons there are civilised, looking you in the eye as they deliver the shot of fresh pain into your walking corpse instead of a dagger in the back from angles unseen.
And the most stinging sign of life’s unforgivable betrayal; through writing all this I can’t even be given the release of a single tear, only the subtly creeping death of my ability to feel…