This artery, which carried so much life and promise, is now dead. The ebb and flow of life has waned until no trace of the violent lifejoy remains to cake the edges of your heart.
When did your promise fade, you teratoid temptress? When did you lose your power to fascinate? When did you lose me, your most devoted fan?
I can tell you, you know. I can trace this all back to a single moment that made me lose my love for you.
The first time you looked at yourself, oh, vanity, that was when I hated you. The first time you knew just how captivating you were was when I noticed the first overtures of change. When you were self-centered, in love with yourself, afraid of losing your youth, that is when your heart turned to stone and I knew you couldn't love me as much as you love yourself.
When you looked in my mirror-bright shield, I learned to hate you.
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This makes me so very angry and frustrated that I'm just going to leave it at that. Great job with the continuing saga of your she-demon, Redcrosse.
ReplyDeleteIt's not a story of a demon. I CLEARLY used "teratoid," which is monster-like.
ReplyDeleteSemantics.
ReplyDeleteThat actually makes it worse for me to think about.