The Exchange Rate of Trust
You have made me as I am,
Broken and irreparable, tossed aside
In the darkest place imaginable
I am now huddled,
Broken and Ravaged,
How can I recover?
When you insist on tearing open my wounds,
At the first sign of a scar.
This is what you have condemned me to,
This darkness, betrayal,
I am undone, you, my undoing,
You have seen me,
My permission granted
To do what you will,
My mistake, my one true folly embedded with regret,
Such delicate matters for one as unfit,
As you have revealed yourself to be,
Incapable of ever truly loving me,
Those words you have chanted upon my unwise ear,
I see now the hollow nature they wear,
No substance behind the seams of your lies,
No passion within your sighs,
No promise in your eyes, no hope in your words,
Garments disguised the emptiness of the absurd,
The absurd disguised in belief of love,
The lover disguised as bliss thereof,
Endearments spoken and all care tossed aside,
Swimming in the unknown beckoning of the tides,
I blame you not,
For it was by my hand,
That condemned me to this deserted land,
Where nothing grows,
No water flows,
No song upon the wind,
No acknowledgement of sin,
No life within me,
No life without me,
No shudders in the dark,
No warmth in the morn,
No careless whispers at the peak of dawn,
Trust lives here, trust is rot,
My soul is weary, my wounds are not.
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