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The bleached white bones of desertion lay scattered on the charred earth of dispossession, as the last droplets of rational purpose are sucked into the dry ashes of dissolution, like the crimson seeping of let blood.
Cold shivers rack my body, my spine freezes with the icy blast of spiteful contempt blowing across the barren landscape of callous delusion.
What future lies for those of blind heart and pitiless soul, as bleak winters of dearth curl down upon us from clouded grey skies of resentful departure?
I ache with the pain of dejection. My breath rasps sore in narrowed throat, heart clambers against ribs of bruised ego, while salted tears flow on pale cheeks blushed with rubicund hue.
Crumbled down, a heap of curled sorrow hiding in dark corners of despair. Head bent, cradled on folded arms, as I weep away the hours of night.
Day brings only remorse. A scornful light, teasing of pleasure lost, love waned, lust disintegrated. Now only cold cinders of passion lay upon the white sheets where fervent delight and carnal hunger once entwined.
Loves heart does not bleed. Grief has already sucked it dry, a vampiric leaching, leading to an empty life hollow of being.
Welcome the hours of solitude. Welcome the silence of darkness. For in these I see no tears, I feel no pain. I feel nothing.
I do not think, therefor I am not.
© Paul White 2015