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A Gun
Sadness is a blade sharpened to pierce the heart. As time goes on, it gets sharper and sharper until the only thing that's left is its sharp ability to pierce the heart. . . And hate? Hate is a place where people who can't stand sadness goes to burn their world.
I couldn't stand the sadness, and I couldn't stay to share it. I became a ghost, alone I left out too, burn my body with my own hate. The hate I'd replaced the sadness with.
I left the one I loved and blamed another that lost her for how broken she became. Looking in the mirror, my reflection is as much a stranger to me as my own feelings. Do I have the right to the guilt I'm killing slowly?
I left to battle my hate, pile more blood on my hands. I am a gun without a holster, a bullet with no direction. The madness of it all is I'm just a cracked, rusting gun and as age will take me, my most fatal flaw was never having a true motivation other then just being the gun that I was so good at.
I learned after so much burning. That if you long for only one thing so long, it's a given that you'll miss other things along the way.
