flummoxed

Supposed to rage, but ended up pining... so not what rage is supposed to do. Every offending image branded on the mind, the searing pain a cleansing ritual of refinement; every culpating exchange remembered, the jarringness a prelude to silence. So much to rage on, such fodder for the flames, yet why does the flame subside? What banked the fire before it even blew up? Is it permanent, or does the fuel for the flames just pile on higher? It would have been a huge explosion. Instead an apology was uttered. Why? I dunno. damn.

Disappointment, the slow burning of the image in the heart, like the disfigurement of a wax figurine. Details and features starting to run, to lose it former quality, taking upon deviant forms. A cry for restitution, a cry that a tit be made for a tat. What was thought dearly bought was found to be freely given. Feel the urge to destroy, to lay waste, to just make tears the courseof the day. But does that not cause mutual disappointment? does that not sink me to the same level? Human nature... abased and useless. for now I do not know... but vindication may yet become vindictiveness.... cry for revenge may yet surface to wreck havoc. Stilled waters now fills the picture, but whats sunken below is a great big unknown.

Realisation finally dawns. Realisation that the self inflicted burdens were needless all along. Misguided words, taken at face value. I will let go if pushed; I will let go if I am again made to feel unworthy. Alternatives abound, for both. an issue of wants and not needs.

So so tired. Tired of doing thankless tasks. Tired of being used as the default alternative. Tired of waiting, waiting and waitng. I can do the disapearing trick too. I can be submerged in work too. yes, free choice. But to what end? Not worthed it in the end, so not gonna do it any more. What was given freely, when ill received, will not be given further. What was treasured above all is now put to the same weigh scale, to be discarded if found wanting. Emotion is but a quantity, severable if needed. Besides, the floodgates are now open, I can do whatever I want, with whoever I wish, with total disregard. A tit for a tat. A slap for a slap. No longer bound by the rules to play fair, no longer inclined to care whether it might hurt, release of inner demons to wreck utter havoc. An endless tirade of utter blackness, ever fueled by imageries that infuriates.
It will never be the same again. Forgiveness comes at a price. Contempt.

Liberated now to prose at will, to rant all and sundry on the inner workings of my mind. Liberation sadly won, sorrowful victory at too much a cost. Lost love, charred feelings, buried heart.