Can you see the aftermath?
Do you even care to feel the bitter burn of it all?
Listen to the deafening silence.
Will you wash off this feeling, or will you let it linger upon your skin?
Should you bask in the lasting remnants of her taste?
"Are you even listening?"
Who is that? What's her name? Can you even remember? Do you even care?
"Look, I have to go; I've got work in the morning."
You let her taint the ghost of her wrapped around you, inside of you. Does it make the pain go away? Are you satisfied?
"Good bye?"
It's a question, not a statement, what does she expect? She just fucked a love-dead zombie, and she expects a transaction? She expects you to care that she's leaving, and expects you to care that her emotions have been wounded by your ever-growing numbness.
She's turns on her heel not quite irate and not quite poignant, instead she sits somewhere on the boarder line of pissed-off and shattered, an expression she tries to hide behind her mask of meaning, her life goes on whilst you drive yourself further into the ground.
And perhaps, if you continue, your down ward spiral will take you from your self-made hell, directly to the genuine underworld of the wicked. Welcome to the Circus of the Damned, I give you the Temptress Tamer in all her former glory.
You never lost your love. You didn't lose your bride. You ran away. It's what you do best isn't it. You're the modern day Houdini of relationships, put you in chains and you'll always escape.
It wasn't his fault. Granted he's a fucking bastard, but it was your decision. You chose to leave the one great love of your life in favour of fucking an ex-holly wood wife turned drug-addicted, heartless exoskeleton of the woman you once thought you loved. Living off her alimony and trying to hold onto her youth with beach house, drug den parties and meaningless sex with you, her little freak.
You put yourself here, only you can get yourself out again. That is if you want that. You believe your life is as worthless as the people who used and abused you as a child. Your friends can't help you. God can't save you.
You're not doomed. You're not worthless. You're not terrible.
You just like to think you are.
It's easier that way. Isn't it Shane?