Wicked Heart

I want you dead, festering

in your own retched stench.

Never again to darken my soul

with your foolhardy hope.

Never again to chisel away at

the sound walls of reason that

protect me so well from those

searing daggers to the heart.

“Maybe this time …” you say

time after cursed time. Like

the serpent of Eden, from your

hole, deep within the dungeon

of my mind, you tempt me.

You draw me to repeated,

sucking deaths of the soul.

And then you stand back and

watch with wicked delight, as

I twist and writhe in the tattered

rubble of yet another rejection.

Reviews

[icelandicblue]

Hope is not always the thing with feathers- sometimes it's like a hot poker in the eye.
I liked this-very visceral image too.

[Tardisbaby]

...This seemed very psychologically healthy to write. I enjoyed reading it and hope you enjoyed writing it as well.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I'm ... picking up ... some sarcasm.

[Tardisbaby]

oddly enough...no. And a moment of sincerity is rare for me.