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  • Writer's pictureRadiantDarkness

How are we to Love

End of the rope being infected with deceit, manipulation

She doesn't regret what she's done. She wouldn't change a thing. I can't say that I blame her anymore. That being said, that's the end of the rope. I can't live with that. It wouldn't ever reconcile with my higher self. My ego could manipulate the information a thousand and one different ways and try to make sense of it, but it would create a massive split between the ego and intellect. It's not that I can't forgive, but to stay immersed in this pain would be like sleeping on a torture rack. I got played for a fool. I got walked around like a dog. I put her before myself, and now I pay the price. I forgot what's most important, and my life became unhinged. I'm left without any female friends because I was duped into thinking I had the most special one in the world. The only thing I'm left with are memories that are poisoned with deceit.

At the moment, I have no interest in finding another partner. People are so ingrained in their capitalistic ego; they will not care about what I do. Things are as they are. I can't undo them. My own ego has infected my decisions. I need to figure out a way to catch that before I wind myself into the same conundrum. It sounds easy, but it's going to be a difficult road. I don't want to keep things internalized, but others seem to think some things are best left unspoken. Why? Because I'm raw, and the truth isn't always what they want to hear. It makes them look like the villain. I refuse to play that game anymore. The easy way is to spiral back down to their level and appease the group ego.

Villain of solitude, capitalistic conundrum, long and windy road, surrealism

The best thing for me right now is not to think. I shouldn't be speaking with anyone. I've helped no one in the past five years. I've only gratified their ego. I've brought everything down into the shame of materialism. I haven't been a good friend. People were self-destructing before my very eyes, and I lit myself on fire to join them. Why would I want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me? How can I love someone that tore my heart out? A theme in my life is the people I care about leaving me behind as if I'm nothing. It's so easy for them, yet I still want to be around the ones that slit my throat. Who's the psychopath here? The sadist or masochist? I must leave horrible impressions on people. They don't even realize we've met in the past. They don't bother to ask how I've been. I'm nobody at all. Nothing about me is appealing.

Otherworldly keyhole lost in space, biomorphism, dadaism


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