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Annihilation through Addiction

Ciara M. Blecka

    Say you didn’t toy with every delicate orchestrated emotion that spilled from my manic admitted secret charms. Cruel was your cool. I couldn’t look you in the eye but I could read you. Submissive was my specialty. I created you and I get addicted sometimes to that blazing intensity. What it would have taken to simply poeticize and entrance you but there you go flat and vacant. Just pull the curtain on your mystery, shut the shades, darling, or drink yourself to death, would you expect me by your side? How many times can you twist the knife and badly drain me of all my wondrous colour and take me down another peg where you want me in the gutter. Control is happiness for you. And I’ll shut my eyes to it. Because you have some kind of power. And I do, too, because you come back to torture me. And when my eyes are blind from tears, will you give a little bit? You never did. And I run and hide from this. What more do you want? You take it all and keep taking till I’m bone-dry and then you don’t even say goodbye. Yet I still try. A little masochist. I’ll just go get high and I’ll forget the bad times. You did say you loved me once. I can still hear the tenderness you had that day and it echoes inside. So go on breaking my bones, sweet one. I won’t lie, I can’t change my mind. I just die inside. And you feel nothing, don’t you? Go put your sunglasses back on. Let’s read another Bret Easton Ellis book and forget about it.



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