Friday, June 20, 2008

END GAME

I caught you at your game. You will not bring me to shame.
Actions speak louder than words-- you have no ability to expand beyond your own understandings of limited love and respect. Whoever gives you attention is what holds you best, you conceited little girl.
You can run silly one, you can cry those crocodile tears. But you and I both know the real truth.
I do not need you anymore, in any which, way and form. If you see me, walk on by. Empty those blue lakes of water from the facet of your stone eyes to manipulate your generic, most unimpressive friends into believing that you are the victim, when really you’re the one who inflicted all the damage and pain. I should have known that you could not handle me like a woman, dear child.
These new found friends of yours step to me and confront me by calling me names, saying that I am the one to blame. If this about retribution for your volatile peace of mind, it is such a tragedy that you did not learn anything from me. Or maybe you did and you learned to forget because it was better for yourself. Because of you things came undone and I was forced to run and run. How does it feel to know that you have lost the best thing that ever happened to you?
The joke’s on you. Maybe you can’t see threw the steam of your foggy perspective, but I do. I do.

I regulate my once palpitating breath and realize the control you use to have over my stress, my chest. If you think of me know that you do not deserve to have me in your tainted and unstable brainwaves. Forget me.
If you feel fondly of me, stop it. Think of me as the love you once had, that you have now lost. Like the seasons change, you were my winter. Spring has come and restored my faith in love again.
Though I loved you once, you leave no room for me to have compassion for you through your childish games and relentless display of disrespect and instability.
My sorrow has washed away to reveal the red alert sign that illuminated the ugly person are/have become? You protect yourself by forgetting the truth of my inspiration and you return to the safety of your juvenile ways.
You must be a damn fool to think that I do not know who I am.
Move aside, I have no time for you and your friends to put me on trial for a crime I did not commit.
I subpoena you to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you, your god.
Oh what a most undesirable shame.
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