You have locked me within walls that stand firm enough to not let my cries out. With tiny pieces of the traces you have given me, I begin to fathom my way out of your messy mind. You are not able to see my struggle. Your quicksand of love is my quicksand of bleakness. My arms outstretched like a child trying to touch the stars, I want to touch every fiber of reality. I wish that reality could heave me away from your vehemence. A victim to your yearning, I stand on mushy ground as feeble as the love I couldn’t give you, or that is what you thought. My teary eyes look around at the burning we have caused. Burning of passion is long gone. The demolition we have caused upon ourselves echoes in my ears louder than your nightly screams.
To hold your hand through everything that aches you is now exasperating. I find it arduous to pacify your roaring mind, the one that thinks I’m your refuge. It isn’t easy for me to say no but saying yes is not going to be an option anymore. Not after you effortlessly made me your dancing puppet or after your dark and smoky angst became my constant terror. So here I am pleading, to let me slip out of your grasp and find a road to repose. My journey might be full of thorny stirs but I will continue hoping that they stir me away from you and back to a world of sense. A world that I cannot share with you for in my world, your needful passion will not be mistaken for touching endearment. A world where my warmth will be mine.