Dead End Blindfolded in Writings

How dangerous is this road, I ask? As the warning signs do not appeal. Making my way around the remains, spread across the ground. I realize quickly I do not recognize my surroundings. However familiar this may have been before. It is all strange, and foreign to me now. Here I am, my heart has been given away, and with it, the power to cause me the worst amount of unimaginable pain. I call this fear. I call it danger. I call it the warning sign in the middle of the read in black letters. “Dead End”. Why do I so willingly give my heart away? Why do I pretend to trust, knowing my trust has been broken. Yet you cannot see in the inexpressive glare in my eyes, that I doubt you. You speak, and for a moment I feel comfort, whether it is a lullaby of lies, or the soothing sound of truth. I will not know until the lies seep in, until they find their way to the surface, then suffocate me and pull me below. That’s when my scars will show, In that moment of shear vulnerability.. you’ll see all of the pain I hide, falling from my eyes, drowning me in a shallow puddle. Perhaps you are here to finish me off, you see how destroyed I am, and I now know that you are not here to heal my wounds, but rather to watch them killing me slowly, all the while creating more. No matter what I say, or how I beg, there is nothing I can do to stop the pain. No prevention, no intervention. This is the way of my life, The pain is the breath I take in, exhale, a moment of relief, and then I feel the sharp blade against my skin, from behind, you have again stabbed me in the back, How easy it is to deceive when you speak in only lies, Easier when you do not see the tears falling from my eyes.
Put the blindfold on me, I’d rather not pretend I don’t see it when you draw the knife..

Last updated June 07, 2017