VEIL'D MELANCHOLY.

XIV - KILL ME, HEAL ME.

You told me you loved me as if that were the antidote, the analeptic to the lethal plague that had infected us. You told me you loved me as if all our fallacies were meant to be, as if they existed just for me, and your words were the remedy. You thought your words had the power to make well, but all they ever did was annihilate. You adulterated the soil with poison, and conjectured why the flowers wouldn't bloom. You were the reason for the scars on my body, yet you acted as if it was you who was perishing in agony. You took culpability for ma joie de vivre, not for my despair. I can still legibly cast my mind to the myriads of nights I had spent drowning away my agony in amber liquid. My whole world was caving in, completely disintegrating, while you just stood there, observing, as my being sepulchred itself under the weight of all my regrets. Under you. You had me besotted, absolutely enamoured; trapped in the spell you casted. You had me drinking poison, feigning it as elixir. You left me desolated whilst you wended your way all over my nugatory remains. Burying them further into the soil in which I once bloomed. The grounds which birthed me, were now the ones which borne my ashes. Yet what sets a thorn in my flesh, is that you told me you loved me, but you never meant it. You told me you loved me, but you weren't au courant that those were words weren't the answer, they were the vexed question.