I embody the destruction of love, and I dare you to take me on.

Jump to conclusions, catastrophize every scenario, & wrongly perceive oneself & others as worse than one actually is…

Feelings, Feelings… Turned To One Distorted Emotion

Unpleasant memories and distress intertwine with future optimism and allure.

Your past is so sinister, it darkens everything it touches, tainting what could have been.

Undeniably Demonic

You found yourself torn between two contrasting tables — one representing the fiery depths of hell, the other a celestial haven of Heavens Treasures.

Struggling to distill it to its essence, you embodied a dualistic mind, weaving a perplexing web of deception and ensnaring the unsuspecting souls crossing your path.

How can you possibly entertain the idea of forgiveness?

You’ve been cast aside to your own whims, absolution simply became a far-fetched illusion.

Do you fail to grasp, not to mention observe, the reality in front of you?

Or are you still ungrateful even when blessed?

Fading the rugged boundaries of what seemed achievable, maybe even anticipated.

Engaging in a relentless struggle to unearth the slightest of flaws in the most evident armor.

Somehow, in some manner, you perpetually manage to stumble upon one.

Flaw after flaw, you fall into your trap.

Uncover the fissure, the cipher, the illumination that never existed.

Amplify it. Elaborate upon it. Die in it.

The Surging Torrents

Oh, the surging torrents of insecurity; as they surge, twist, and crash onto the shores.

Whatever you kept vulnerable for such a duration, all you required was resolution.

All the trivial, imaginary situations born from your distorted perspective, cleverly hiding your unspoken grudges. Allowing them to endlessly repeat, in a frenzy.

Any semblance of reason or rationality consumed by the electric, unfounded vulnerability of fear.

It is you who questions yourself, with the ’purest intention’, defining yourself entirely unworthy.

Unworthy of both what you have received and what you desire.

As you read, a sense of darkness seeps through the words, almost like you’re touching the shadowy spaces between each moment, within each line.

Their voice lacks any firmness, resonating with the hesitant tones that have become all too familiar to you.

You prepared yourself for heartache, despite it never even being there.

There’s nothing to even suggest it existed in the first place. Setting yourself up with such damning evidence.

The beauty that was waiting for you, stripped from right under your own two feet.

Picture yourself gliding on the ethereal surface of your make-believe carpet, immersed in isolation, firmly convinced of your status as a victim, while casting blame and condemning victims as villians.

A glass that appears to be completely full but deep down you fear its impending emptiness.

A seemingly sturdy wall that stands unsteady before your very eyes, as you witness the gradual crumbling of its metallic structure.

Embrace the illusion, confess it!

Eventually ending in a feeling, for once returning to a time produced from the many pauses between words.

Silence, prior to embrace in the moments that free-fell from your heart; deceived, felt, immediately after.

Pathetic.

Holding all the world’s promises in the palm of your hand.

Spending the time watching shadows dancing in the distance. Overruling that which is clearly present, in the here and now.

It’s the belief that heartbreak is, in the end, inevitable. Despite your undying hope for the contrary. You allowed this belief to undermine all you think, say, or do.

That sweet morsel is followed by a bitter gut. 

It’s the inconsistent ability to seize the moment.

Theal false confidence that you were meant to play the cards that you were dealt.

The ongoing struggle of being your own deceiving dealer who’s giving you shitty hands of sabatoge, you’re fighting yourself, but you blame the other.

Being relentlessly gripped by sickening, maddening, torturing nostalgia.

This nostalgia that suffocates, it continues to grow, fester, and generate from each and every moment, and as it passes, you’re standing firmly in the center unable to do a thing about it anymore.

A gripping fear that each touch, affection, or unsuspecting eternal feeling of love might be the last, so don’t feel it too much… or it’ll hurt too much.

And as this thought pattern persists, it very well could have been the very last thought.

And this is what you chose? Good job.