The Devil I Knew

i could make grounds break with the succession of the wrath you left me in. the broken down imagery of the church steps that i ended up stuck on. in an altruistic way — the power you fueled in me again, a bitterness, an absolute rage; could burn the church steps down itself. how something so chaotically passionate could turn into the wind, reminds me of something out of a stephen king book itself. is that all you were? a nightmare? a mere tease of whatever was hiding within me? what is the need of this rage, of this bitterness? it surely didn’t begin with you, but why can’t it end where you vanished? i fear my way to be dark. is that where you led me? is that where i followed you? to the dark? was there a hidden assignment? a inexplicit signing that i dotted my name on? this wasn’t where i wanted to be left. the winds howling, the chaos spewing; i thought we knew better than this, i thought i did. did you know better than what i thought i knew? in the end all of this fuel feeds fed by hands that were selfish, hands that were greedy, hands that vanished. your gentleness was temporary, and metaphorical within itself.

why didn’t those hands pull me off the staircase?

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