Burning Muse

Diamond

mustangkate:

When I break your heart, not only will you feel it, but I’ll mean it. I won’t set out to destroy you, but there will come a point, early on, when I’ve decided that your demise is my only way out. I’ll set your heart on the curb, cleft to the pointed edge, and stomp for all I’m worth. Because you feel the pain. And I can’t feel shit. I want to, but I just don’t. I wish you understood. Because you see beauty and pain and anguish and love in my eyes. Maybe you think you’re looking in the mirror. Because there’s nothing but emptiness hidden in my inquisitive gaze.

I’ll stand there, watching you. Hand poised, pen to pad, head cocked to the side, waiting. I want to know how it feels. Tell me where it hurts. See, I’m a learner first and foremost. I knew hurt once, and learned to make it go away. I don’t know pain anymore, so I need to hear it from the lips I once desired so hard it made me burn like the matches on my eighteenth birthday cake. Please. Burn for me. Tell me you ache in your soul for my love and my body and my heart. I can’t feel my heart beating and absolutely need to hear what you feel when you press against my chest in the mid-dawn hours. 

Cry on your knees for me. Tell me you’ve never loved anyone as much as you’ve loved me. I’ll believe you. In the same breath that I beg you to stop talking, I’ll thank you for speaking a truth so real, you didn’t realize you could utter its essence. Tell me I am the only girl to make you cry. I know this is the real story because you only cried on your knees the day your mother died and that hasn’t happened yet. Tell me you chose me for my rarity. That to own such a thing of beauty and uniqueness was to set us apart. Remove the you from us. Because that will make it better.

Scream at me. Yell and cry about things yet to come. Speak of appreciation and lack thereof. Wipe your tears long enough to tell me that you never wanted to be as beautiful as he was. As he is. Because somewhere, deep inside, you know you’ll never measure up to the smiles he plastered on my face. So you cut him down in the hopes of growing big and strong. You aren’t, are you? Your face does a poor job at hiding the sorrow you feel when you spew venom at the specter of him. He hides in the shadows and waits for you to exert your meager confidence, knowing you never believed yourself to be above him in my eyes.

He was right. You were right. And you were both wrong. Because the only person who matters in all of this is me. I don’t want you. I don’t want him. I don’t love either of you. I don’t want to meet your mother. And I sure as fuck don’t want your rare-as-everyone-else’s diamond. Throw your intentions to the depths of the burning center and ask for forgiveness, if that is your right. Because you, with your assumptions and your ego, have destroyed my chances for a life more lived. And for that, you deserve to burn.