Writhering Putrid

Not so long ago, but far away                                                                                                               now I talked to a stranger and                                                                                                                  by default I overshared                                                                                                                            tested and prodded them

Out and about, honest after a while                                                                                                       but something felt off, like                                                                                                                        I wasn’t just the abuser anymore                                                                                                    having my words publicly exploited for                                                                                          someone’s personal gain

I was made to feel like I was                                                                                                                 the grim reaper of conflict and dirt                                                                                                      and all I wanted was to writher close

I had never been so low once I sunk                                                                                                    taking a plunge deeper than I ever had imagined                                                                            Things didn’t just spiral but they                                                                                                          hurled at me like a cloud being weighed down

Learnt to accept my fate with the dark                                                                                                 as my companion filled with pure disgust                                                                                           or so that’s what I was made to feel

And I’m trying to let people in but I held on so hard and for so long and I broke more than I had ever been broken before. Years later and I still am haunted by the very act of my own wrongs and the torment I was put through to never be left forgotten of it.

Maybe I really was to blame and I can’t keep using that as an excuse, but I crave what people give me, and when I get it I can only handle it for so long until I literally become a wall itself and I become like a hay stack amongst a maze. Only this maze’s entrances and turns change everytime you take a walk through it.

I swear I’m good for love, I swear I’m trying to love people and to love myself, but I’ve been packing my bags for so long that the bags became me and the road stopped being paved.

I’m sorry I’ve let you down, that I’ve lead you down a narrow path with dark intentions lit with such a small torch, dimming out the more we crawl.

If you have to leave, who am I to stop you when I basically left you with no choice?

Who am I to wreak more havic even when I am being honest and heartfelt. How can I expect people to understand me when I can’t even stay in a good place no matter what I do.

I can only express my true self in writing now. It’s easier because I don’t have to hear my disgusting breath escape from my esophagus.

I’m sorry I’ve made you feel how I feel when you were the angel I’ve been needing, but I threw my devilish side at you. And it wasn’t all just games, there’s some truth. I force things to stay sometimes because I know it’s what I want, but my mind tells me to spit out putrid things and my heart cries and hides behind a shield of forestry.

 

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