Each Day As The Dagger in Writings

Let me down, each day as another dagger, straight to the soft spot, that we call our human hearts. Let me down, and each time let me fall further, until I reach the end of another day spent alone. Bring me excuses in bouquets of red roses, adorned with thorns to prick my trigger finger, to prevent me from putting an end to the pain. Find a way to handicap the smile I’ve painted on my face, a master piece that is now falling to pieces, degraded every minute it drowns in it’s own irony, and is dissolved in time.

Point out my flaws, and ignore all of the beauty. Pretend that you can’t see who I really am inside. Play your part, upon this stage, we act on emotions, and let our hearts guide us, even towards endings that encompass our every mistake. Inhale the rancid smell, the taste of regret upon you’re tongue.

A slap on the wrist, and we do not know any better, than to fend for ourselves and attempt to murder our enemies, even when we do not realize that we are simply aiming at our own reflection.

Last updated June 07, 2017