rage and recovery

am i the villain of my own story?

i blame them for my bleeding heart

you don't care about me

you wage war with your emotions

your words are sharp like knives 

and I'm just a casualty of your self-destruction.

but what if, after all this time, it's not them?

what if it's me?

soft words scrape my throat like sand

and honesty is nothing more to me

than a way to ruin the tower i built

around my feeble and fearful heart.

i have never known anything more than

the push and pull of honey-soaked words

and the smoke and mirrors of affirmations.

i have never sat with this discomfort,

this blinding fear and horrible rage.

i have never asked myself 

why i reel them in with playful smiles

and red, red lips

only to reach out and stab them in the chest

when their fingertips brush my skin. 

but if it is me, if i am nothing more

than a false god with no followers,

then why do i keep searching

for that one mortal man

to pray at my altars

and lay his severed heart at my feet?

how can i stop this cycle of destruction?

how do i reconcile my terror and longing

if i can't even bear the thought of you

running your hands over my skin

and filling in all the cracks of my heart

with the swift bite of your teeth

and the soothing warmth of your lips?

how do i escape from this terrible world

of drawn swords and bared teeth

and find my way to this sacred world

of soft blue eyes and soft blonde hair

and soft pink smiles

that i so desperately long for?