Death by a Thousand Cuts

When love cannot be true.

Death by a Thousand Cuts

If love is not to be then I do not exist

for it is in that sweet embrace that I breathe,

that I inhale the life giving oxygen

to feed my identity.

It is that very air which defines me,

fills my lungs with hope,

makes me who I wish to be,

loving and giving and loved for it.

When I am starved of love,

of closeness and intimacy,

I become a mere shell of a man.

I shrivel inside and wander in aimless thoughts

which become blacker than necrotic flesh

with each passing hour.

I question myself, my life, my worth.

I fall deeper into the abyss of darkest hell

where life itself is no longer worth it.

Where all the slicing of my skin

leaves my warm blood draining

in pools of despair

from my bruised and beaten heart.

And there I lie,

naked and alone,

covered in the stinking,

insincere excrement

of past love’s

 

06/01/15

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I believe we carry the pieces of those we've loved, within us. They are the foundation that we stand upon, the fruition that we seek in another.

I love the clarity you gave this, John!

[John Alexander McFadyen]

We do indeed carry the 'shards' left by exploding hearts. When we meet another and fall it protects us or anesthetises us, but should it fail the pain begins over with another shard lodged deep within our souls. Thank you so much Kelly.