The Mortification of Trust
Hark the lament, a bitter verse, where wrath supplants the pain I seek not to outstrip. To have met my gaze was a damning lapse, a flaw in the celestial script; do you strive to nullify the wound? My utterance was but a desperate plea, a protest against your callousness, your profound dearth of clemency. I mirror the lesson you imparted: to air the soul’s fierce decree.
Dare you invoke the specter of Demise? Your scar, a mirror's shard, a trophy of vanity's end. Silence your narrative of a former flame’s calamity; for I possess a tale untold of a personal death-knell borne of my own unyielding fealty. Fidelity, a concept you deemed expendable, was never sufficient for your spirit’s dearth. I have known a hundred slaughters, the ghost of bruises fading from the cervix’s curve. Not a gastric affliction, but your own reckless hand dealt the mortal blow. You sought my solace while contracted elsewhere; was this the allegiance you claimed to know? Since honor holds no import for you, go, ply your wares on bumble, and cease the cant of loyalty.
And if fealty fails, where stands probity? The blossoms of my confession languished in my coach. My trust met its obit when your prevarications concerning a rival were brought to light. You deem a broken vow a trifle? I kept my counsel, electing instead to seek further deceit, engaging the Arabica’s acolyte, tracing the contours of your elaborate fable. You shun the insightful mind because it holds your fallibility in relief, masking your guilt with a specious apology, a gesture of profound obduracy. Contrive always to mold your brow, lest the world discern the malfeasance lurking beneath.
My wound compels a period of sufferance, a need to reconstitute a shattered faith. You fail to comprehend the depths of my capacity; born of a lineage of privilege and a feral past that brooks lethal consequence, I could with facility map your every move, track every shadow you keep. To eavesdrop upon your digital colloquies was a paltry feat; yet I chose abnegation, refusing to taste the poison. I challenge you now to speak of Demise. You interpret a gift of florets as a suitor’s troth, yet boast of your numerous trysts. Does this vainglory afford you beauty? What of the travail you inflict upon my soul? Ah, I must stifle the heart’s lament, for you decreed our feelings were but trivial encumbrances. Approach, commit the ultimate desecration, then wash your hands clean, departing without vestige, knowing I am left brittle and exposed, my most vulnerable facet laid bare.
Why, then did we speak the tongue of love? How far must one descend when fealty is deemed lacking? To decipher your transgressions feels like attending a polemic between the pontiff and the apostate on the nature of eternity. Loyalty demands fortitude, a yearning for cognizance, a drive toward true comprehension. If this is wanting, then whence sprung the stigmata bequeathed by your former partner? From veracity? Or from dramatic fabrication? Only your spirit and your Creator know. I rendered my dignity to ashes to dwell in your orbit, only to find myself in a stage set, where you auditioned your successor, flaunting the accolades of your salacious internet posts. You relish being the cynosure of digital lust. You disparage fidelity, yet you cannot sustain it, attending to the multitude of eager suitors. I granted you the time to answer their carnal appeals, for you bask in their libidinous gaze. Seek your affirmation from those prurient youths, lured by the bait of your provocative displays.
Consider me your willing patron; I am a votary who assists his mate completely. If your desire is hatred, I hope this missive serves as ample provocation. Go forth and seek new consorts, narrate your woes of past maltreatment, your delicacy, your abuse, your pride in the promiscuity you display, to harvest all the validation you crave: the certification of beauty, the globe’s epicenter, a casual bedfellow, the icon of the web, and to cry out about Demise when they inevitably inflict pain upon you.