Those who abuse love may appear to occupy the same emotional space as the one they pretend to love, yet they are in truth sitting in a viewing room with a one way mirror, watching with emotional distance, always able to leave, always able to manipulate.
The sweet hearted cannot bring themselves to imagine the cold and indifferent manipulations of those who abuse love. To them it is a poison, a contamination. Yet the wise let themselves feel the cold for long enough to become educated in these ways, then live with the warm and true heart.
If a Catherine-wheel firework were a blade - that would be you, crying hot tears as you spin, creating random wounds without apparent consciousness. Then, once you are all "burned out," when I am bleeding from it all, you sit and await for me to fix you. I'm done. I'm out. I should have been out long ago. I'd wish you luck but no, luck can't help those who won't try to better themselves.
He told me he loved me and found ways to become physically close, chipping away at he emotional layers of protection only so that he could do the same with my clothing. Yet I was only entertainment to this man, someone to take for a "test drive," or worse still, "a joy ride," not caring if I was left a burnt out wreck at the end. His pale skin against his red scarf once made my heart leap, yet now I see it as if I was my own mother, protective for the lonely girl I was.
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