Psychopath.

Never Kill The Sunset Over The Night.

Why are you still holding on him even after all of his sharp words that pierced your heart? You aren't the sunset to handle it and do it on repeat. You aren't the sunset to yield, set down and cede every day for the night. You aren't the sunset that kills itself for the night's serenity. Rather you should be the morning that dominates the night sky forcing the night to retreat.

But you aren't only reading this metaphorical prose, you are living it yourself. Forgetting that the sunset is a miracle that manifests God's skilled hands, it's a miracle that God creates every day to mingle the day and night cycle. It is an inanimate object, the metaphor that a poet can personify. But you're a human, the animate one that a poet cannot personify. You are a human of perfect will, mentality and power. However, you choose to be his sunset metaphor.

Just like how the sunset is powerless to God's supreme hands, you choose to be submissive and powerless to his weak hands. As if you are equal to sunsets in having no absolute will. You escape God's caring hands, to worship the hands that give you negligence. His hands will give you nothing, but a famine. His love is a workhouse and you are Oliver Twist who's getting yourself involved into apprenticeship to please your undertaker.

It's still what you want to do, isn't it? To play Ishmael's role. To be the lamb that sacrifices itself to the lion's hunger. Because, it doesn't matter how many times the night kills the sunset, the sunset is resurrected the next day. Maybe you'll cry to God and he'll rise your heart from its grave again. It's okay like how Semele will give birth to Dionysus, the lamb will be born again. But, aren't you tired yet? What's your effort anyway when it's being given to a black hole?

God uproots the boy's poisoned love from the Lily fields of your heart. But you choose to revolt against your survival prayers and feed on the bitter tastes of unrequited love. You pray God to save you, but you carry on with giving the boy your love.

You keep scooping of it. You keep stuffing your mouth with his negligence like it's cinnamon cakes baked just for you. Too desperate that you sniff for his love in his ill-treatment of you. He acts the words I love you behind a closed door, but also acts the words You are nothing in the public. You are trying to accept it all, but it is hard to chew on this when you're truly in love and still a woman of dignity.

You keep scooping of it. Aren't you tired yet? You try to swallow it, but it's burning your throat. He's doing every terrible thing to you that Cronus would have done to his children.

Aren't you tired of being the fool in his cards? The fool whom he pushes off the cliff to make others laugh. You can't blame anyone for laughing when you gave him the credit in first place. You, you, you before him, him, him. You put the collar yourself around your neck and allowed him to master you.

Falling is never your fault, but accepting somebody's mistreatment is your mistreatment of yourself. Never kill your well-being to give life to useless love.

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