He has words, not common words, but words meant to cut, cut the fabric of the soul.
Words meant to entangle his victims in the anxiety and ego of modern life.
The words he speaks are not common, yet spoken with passion and hate.
The words walk on their own throughout my mind, planting seeds of infidelity in my self belief.
My belief in self remains unscathed and yet, I can feel the words of his, slip and slide down my ear. Like pollution bleeding from a factory wall it erodes my soul like an acid.
The word, the word is weakness, the topic, the man, the result, a short temper, a quicker reaction, a fiery hell burning the insides of my soul.
The house may be burning down, but the foundation remains the same. The windows covered in smoke, the foundation remains the same. The floor bending from the heat, the foundation remains the same.
And of the mighty words which weakness we do praise, another crawls out, and its here to stay. The word is alone. How long are you going to stay alone before you cut the vines of weakness, before you machete the epic failures of your masculinity away? He asks. A reply?
Slow, methodical, violence on the self. In perpetuity.