a cynic’s confessions

You were dressed in white.

And I swear, at that moment, I knew you were going to be the death of me.

Romanticism was dead, but I wanted to tell myself that I could believe in something more than the emptiness of our liberal lives.

You scared me because your light blinded the void.

Yet, I loved the contradiction in your very being– how you never claimed perfection despite the clearness that was in you. You never claimed a higher moral ground. I liked that. I think morality is an illusion. I loved how salvation didn’t mean anything to you.

I couldn’t save you if I wanted to.

I don’t know how to save myself.

The answer isn’t love, love.

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cult (the end)

June 12, 2017

3.
you counted
the wandering lost souls in the
dark while
i fed upon your tears like it was the only thing that
mattered.
to think that i
would have lived an eternity with your
breath upon my shoulders,

when
the lights still shined on in
nights without
you.

remind yourself that you matter,
love.