I did not make a mess of myself,
just for the sake of drama.
I did it to facilitate my survival.
It makes no sense to anyone
as to how I lived the way I did.
But why would I want this?
The reality is such that I cannot comprehend myself.
It is broken now, if not from the start.
Why should I be in need of you?
When I have abandoned myself,
what can I possibly expect
from your vixen psyche
except to push me off the cliffs
or to stomp on my fingers as I grab the edge?
It was broken in heaven, if not in hell.
Yet another cordon of irony in my way,
every tribulation was crafted by you
and convoluted by your spite.
After every stumble, every fall,
I heard your incessant laughs.
You try your best to make it unbearable,
to make my nightmares come alive -
apparitions of affliction, messages of pretense.
It was broken for better, if not for worse.
Your façade sucked me in,
while you became the instrument of Karma.
What goes around comes around sharper
piercing through my chest when I least expect it.
I’m still whole, yet a mere shadow,
with no existence of my own,
zilch without the light.
It was broken in joy, if not in sorrow.
Call me callous if it satisfies your pride,
calm your nerves with my defeat,
but I wouldn’t change a single thing.
I’d rather go through every ordeal a million times more,
before I give up the luxury of my last smirk.
The only stain on my conscience
is the fact that I actually loved you.
It broke swiftly, if not painfully slowly.
At the end of things,
before I dissolve into oblivion,
you rejoice and celebrate on the eve of my downfall;
but in vain, all in vain.
It is my victory, satiation for what’s left of my soul.
I did this to myself.
Now go and gouge your eyes out.
I’ll console myself for an eternity with this one thought.
You did not break my heart; I let you break it.
It broke for the last time.
- The Lover @ Soul Intoxicated