the Purgatory of a Broken Heart

Fall into the abysmal depths

A shade nocturnal in the midnight court.

Obsidian chains making sinister music as the procession approaches from the rear.

After issuing countless condemnations, she grows bored.

Finally, her eyes gently close as she drifts into picturesque reverie.

On memory, fantasy, and the body’s refusal to stay in time.

Uncanny the way it sounds real, looks real, feels real, but it is not real. Phantasmagoria galore.

Please, no more.

Normally, all black everything is not a problem for me. However, relationally, I prefer to step outside of the dark.

Although it gets harder and harder as time goes by.

❤️ Love ❤️

It was not love.
And it was not obsession.

Something much darker and regressive braided the threads of our individuality together to form a fantastical beast.

But I do not have to play into the fantasy.

I’m actually free, to do as I please.