It's right to back away but my heart is being pulled from my chest and a cold void is in its place.
I yearn to feel nothing, to see you as a cold and hardened sculpture.
To look upon you purely as beauty admired from afar without warmth.
Can I not walk away with only the memory of a cold surface and not the hope of your love, not the shredding and tearing within me?
Cut me from you, not with deafening silence but with your tongue, a sharpened knife, that I might finally fall away into the dark and die inside, my words to stop in the hollowness that will follow.
This is really graphic! I think you have retrieved the narcissistic investment from when you mistakenly saw yourself mirrored in the eyes of the beloved. Can you see that you were feeling the illusory projection of a dazzling but ultimately empty soul? You served a purpose for a while, but when your goodness had been squeezed out, you were thrown aside like a toothpaste tube; out of shape and mangled by cursory handling. From my longer perspective I have been able to withhold any confidence (as in willingness to confide) and emotional investment in the incandescent charismatic butterflies of social media. Try to keep pouring balm on your third degree burns because nobody else can, unfortunately.
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