Floating through the wound, already marked – your regret, your mistake.
Floating through life, knowing I am your cross to bear because you are tainted.
Knowing it on the surface, but believing far below, hidden in the recesses of my mind, that the fault must be mine – no logic, no reason could ever convince me otherwise, not deep down in the dark primal corridors haunted by eyes that do nothing but glare and despise.
You made me a target, a magnet for every blank face, every cold soul – better the devil you know.
A flower, a star, magical light sent my way interpreted as a mere trick to break my defences – love, a foreign currency I had neither knowledge nor understanding of.
Floating through the years, keeping the black dog at bay with every ounce of strength.
Mountains climbed, peaks conquered, flag floating – nothing made a dent in your indifference. I was left with the stain, faded but never erased.
Floating through the wound…a trespasser, unwelcome, undesired, unwanted, unloved.
Every single day, since the beginning of the human race, that same simple crime has been, and is being committed. Seemingly with impunity.
Image Credit: angelofdissolution.deviantart.com