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literature

The toll of self

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By Themascura
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Why did you hurt me? You know what you're doing, I see it in your eyes. The wicked fangs of your words bite deep, poison dripping from your lips. You flail me with silence, beat me with angry looks. Your soul burns! What did I do to deserve this? You are supposed to be my family, you are supposed to guard my back, you were supposed to protect me!

You knew what you did when you wrote those words. You dredged that memory to the surface, clawing and kicking, knowing that I would be the only one to see it, to understand! Why? You knew I trusted you. You spoke hollow, whispered words of comfort and warning against the others, and then at last, when I was alone with no other walls to place my back against...

You cut me down, with malice in your heart and my blood on your pen. When you calm down and your own pain is a simmering brew, will you consider what you have done? Will the crunching, rasping shards of my spirit beneath your boot cause you any hesitation? Or will it be a memory, another thing you forgive yourself for, a votive candle smashed by 'accident'? The self is your guide, your shield and your greatest vice. The self was your scythe, as well.

Your words have a price, you know, like tolls on a road, blots of ink on a receipt. At the end of the highway, what amount will you have payed? What will your total be?
Written in a moment of pain and anger, about many people and events, but no one in particular.
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© 2013 - 2020 Themascura
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SaffyLailoHobbyist Traditional Artist
I think this one's really powerful Thema, and a great commentary on those who don't really get the phrase "no man is an island."