For a long time i dreamed of a saviour,
a saviour who would sweep me off the bruised and calloused stumps that are my feet,
they would take me away in their arms,
cradling me off into some utopia
until i realised;
the last thing i needed was that.
hopeless romance,
endless netted strings strung together in a messy web of connections,
i realized love was my destruction
my happiness was found in the isolation of my own mind,
the silence of my thoughts,
amongst the noise and struggle i could never think clearly,
stumbling blindly around the vines,
thorns viciously cutting my eyes,
making me blind.
the last thing i needed was any form of love;
from a boy,
from a girl,
from a friend,
even from a mother.
it was painful to admit,
but if i never showed my heart,
how could it be hurt?
i still continue to love,
i still take this risk,
yet i do not understand why -
once i had been introduced to such a thing,
it was impossible to let go,
impossible to release my grip,,
my chips had already been bet
i was waiting for either me to lose this great gamble,
or for me too win
but at least i understand now,
the lack of commitment,
the reluctant urge to love,
they were scared,
the most horrified people of all.
but i'm not brave,
i'm dreading the verdict of love,
platonic love especially.
but, like in most casinos,
i knew the game was a scan,
there was barely any chance of winning.
soon i would be cleared out in the game of ''love''
YOU ARE READING
𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺
Poetrythe latenight tears from one's eyeducts, the deep, long slits scattered across one's body, the world through scratched and distorted lens - my life was withering, and so was the society around me. withering, athenaspearls
