Tension dies with the absence of a stubborn mistress.
Infatuated with betrayal and a broken hope.
A curse of shame has marked my memory.
Madness is the name that I give to this pain and misery.
Gone again, yet she stays with me.
Like a prisoner in chains, I stay guilty.
A whole year later, and still our resolve remains unchanged.
A quiet rage that will never be fully justified, hides, undetected, like an aneurism of the brain.
I am stronger for it now and cold to false assurances.
The narcissist of empathy is no longer an enigma I fear, but a fallen angel of ill tendencies and sad solutions, that I long to embrace in dead reverence.