I resent you. I loathe you. I could not fall in love with someone so mean, which is why I was able to walk away. I glimpsed your true colours early on and could not chance it. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Stilled my constantly turning mind, gave pause to my quicksilver tongue. Gave you a chance you bellied with scorn toward my brother who is as much me and I in flesh am. So easily you fell into someone else. So easily you fell to your old ways, your derisive ways of spite. Proclaiming your innocence, your victim hood while still harming me actively and seeing no issue in it.

Of course I am hurt, because I do love you. I love the version of you that exists in gaps. Never one full string of moments and actions. I ended things with something casual because it harmed you. You continued to harm me for your pleasure. It fits you, such a throne of grace with women tossing themselves at your feet and eating out of the palm of your scarred and muddled hand. Filthy with my blood, feeding your adoring masses with its pureness.

But I will bandage myself. And I will never fall for such a forked tongue again. It would be amusing, my ire, my discontent. Would pass it off as my natural inclination to disinterest and hatred of people- but no. This is black and thick in my blood, boiling to a point it scorns until I can do nothing but lash at the air in hopes of cooling my soul.

I do not hate. So I do not hate you. I will insult you out loud and loathe you in my own head because perhaps it will napalm my wounds. I doubt it. But you wouldn’t have the emotional maturity to understand such a thing, would you?

Tan, with fake eyes in watch, like from behind a death mask, there leaning upon the edge of the wood bucket seat: Persistence. From the intense consternation of the moment, she searched the fuzziness of the expression... for the tiny face that must be somewhere near the base of the antennae.

In this Pass and impasse, in the tunnel-- leading to her just execution-- no detail seemed too small. Vision turned microscopular... or rather, tubular. At nighttime she would have seen the most distant star; and in the expanse of the bleak day, she saw each and every fiber of fluff atop this silvered being, dappled with bronze streaks, and tipped with white at the very ends, near invisible. As upon an eyelash.

Here was a faint symbol of Spring, in brownie form, complete with wings. A natural yet mystical thing. It fluttered softly against the cold draught in the cabin. She wished she could be the white-haired old lady accompanying an old storybook Mister, arm in arm, through Summer to Winter. It would not be.

The rail carriage devoid of all hope, was surrounded by a seal of iced snow, and the Eurail sped on its dispassionate mission. She had killed the Ambassador. There was no denying it. It was her charge, given, and committed. In the singular moment, she loved the displaced neutral moth, seeking heat, alone, with her in their barred alienated containment.

And the moth, in its turn, was drawn to the strange closure, away from the freeze and freedom of the great outdoors... A behemoth of survival.

A fire in her eyes flamed, with indignation, knowing she had done what she had done, with full awareness and would do it all over again, for the cause. When she took the Ambassador's life, she had said prayers at feverish pitch aloud for both of them-- that Death be swift. She knew she was damned, in this life; and what would come after, would not be known. Her lips parted, false smoke of condensation escaping like white volcanic steam in the heat of this realization.

And the tiny moth, flew in...

She swims in whiskey,

watching as fish breathe,

If only she had gills

that worked on regret

she wouldn't have betrayed the school

and swam alone ...

Drifting careless through currents

as sharks say prayers before dinner.

fear is in her heart,

she's desperate for light of restoration ...

Heaven shaped like a net,?

and paradise like gasping air,?

the fear fades,

to complete darkness ... ....