Soft Spot

Together we make a toxic blend,
Too potent to mend,
Too powerful to end,
Pretend, happiness, waiting for a god send,
Hurt, hope, horror and abuse,
Yet, I call her friend,
Who dangles dollops of devilish emotion,
A dizzying illusion of love,
Opening eyes, I saw clear as day,
Guilting me betrayer the day I sent myself away,
Her venomous words strike my mind bitter,
Bled, bruised, bounced in mental bouts,
Careless whispers caress my cold clouded heart,
Made numb, feeling dumb,
For giving into her another night,
Hindsight, I should’ve tried to fight,
Not let her and indentured demons eat my light,
Wasting another fortnight,
Zero reason to stay a loyal peon,
Each day endless,
every month an eon,
Her word, her law,
A self proclaimed queen,
Adored and feared in esteem,
Using those close,
She lives in a dream,
Bowing to no law, woman or man,
Her wrath boils water into steam,
I blame myself,
Not listenings to red flags sound their alarms,
Created by abuse, lies and emotional self harm,
Her tumbling prickly mind a maze,
Screaming at her demons in empty hallways,
Her partner in crime we poisoned each other,
She’ll stay by your side forever and always,
Crafted chimera we sought another,
Our toxin together brought the most powerful to dismay,
Eyes finally opened,
I began to rue each day,
Feeling more and more horrible,
How could I stay?
Through her I bared many scars,
Yet my mind brings her up a lot,
Though enemy, awful and evil,
Who bore me problems and pain,
She still remains, a soft spot,
Bruised, and remembered with distain,

Scrolling through the contact list.
So many names, no one to call.
I'm shaking.
Is it fear or withdrawal?
I don't know the difference anymore.
I've tried to scream, yet no one heard.
Words can no longer describe this feeling.
Alive and free, an invisible prison.

Liquid poison and burning lungs.
Someone, save me from me.

Porcelain Spider Under the Cellar Door

She sees a person as spool of yarn,
Taking your lifeline and threading it through her own needle,
Round and round you spin as she turns you into something to adorn,
Such an excellent seamstress the mindful spider is,
Sowing painted backless dresses to give the illusion of a spine,
Missing fragmented fractions of her web, she’s blind,
Stark, stacked illusions of what lies beyond a cellar door,
In the inner shadows of the light,
She fears no height, though bore in darkness,
Leg and fang she fought,
Fighting for frail frivolity of position and pose,
******* parts of souls in her aesthetic but potent web,
Missing lines, lanes, but layered intricately allowing illusion of a periled princess,
On her painted round ****, a red hourglass turns to eyes,
Dancing with half dead perspective “insects” assigning value,
Whispering lies,
Clinging to, now, a somewhat familiar light,
Never letting her eyes adjust she refuses to rise,
Periled perfection is her guise,
Hiding in the cracks of the steps and floor,
Content under the rusty bolted hinges of a cellar door,
She never has enough, even at the edge,
The rough taciturn of her mind is never set,
Keeping half dead insects, so long in her web,
Sometimes they expire,
Other times they break and breach her bountiful cacoon,
Falling into the abyss laying underneath that cellar door,
Some recover,
Some feel new found darkness never felt before,
She slides and falls frailly when situations slip from sight,
Using partially passed insects to patch her ornamental paint and aesthetic might,
Having brushed layers of color with their guts,
Shriveled, they fall away from her web,
Her web a half living, half dead farm
And she wails at their loss,
While spinning,
Another web..
She see a person as a spool of yarn...

how do i pick my poison?
when loving you, and leaving you
are both equally toxic.