Decaying in Disillusionment

Kagoatweed’s Rant: R&R, but please, don’t steal ideas!

Was it bad that I shed a little tear when reality came to bear?

Should I have lent my heart so thoughtlessly when another thought he held it?

Was my chasing him, he who also had another, sacreligious or was it true to my feelings?

I remember, I dreamt of him prophetically. Sitting in a room, close to each other, but awkward. Neither of us could move, frozen by something cold and quiet.

I should not have fallen for him. I should have held my heart, strangled its frantic fluttering. I should rather have starved myself for air than allow my breath to quicken with his words.

Now my tears are pooling in my heart and the salt is working its way into my fresh bloody wounds. I am not allowed to cry out for this pain, it is what I know is deserved. Rather, I shed my tears as quietly as possible, letting my heart rot slowly, dissolving in the ever deepening seas in my silenced heart.

And his words. They speak of heady conversations, such as love, religion and relationships, but his stories are tinged with a name. A name: bearable. Her name: painful.

His hand emerged from around her back, curling to her stomach. His other hand clasped her arm protectively, keeping her safe from villains like me.

Smiling, hands matching in obscenity, telling the world to fuck off.

Arm in arm, content. Most painful of all-he looks so happy.

My heart is rotting, spewing black disillusionment. Reality, in the form of white worms, works its way into me, yet I am still smiling. Smiling to hide that I am rotting on the inside, my vile self, my wickedness, burning through. He cannot realize that I hate him on the inside, because I fell for a piano man, a word abuser, and a boy whose soul has been claimed.