My pantomime of fairy dust isn't enough these days to mask the real desert in my heart. I have seen despair in spades that has cropped up and replaced the garden of hopes and dreams I nurtured for years. How could this blade of reality strike my life with a bitter winter at the moment it should be blossoming with the tender dreams of a rich and prosperous life? Blight, disease, cankerous rust eating away at the beautiful moments I once dreamed of for over a decade have taken me from unsinkable to unthinkable sorrow.
Were you always waiting in the wings, like a dark shadow, waiting to darken my glittering sunshine? Did you laugh as you thought of that most glorious moment when my heart should soar on wings of joy only to be shattered by your fleet of burning arrows? Did you taste the rotting flavor of my defeat as I could no longer hold onto my prized hope and it fell from my clutches while I spin out of control toward the daggered blades of stone? Here I lie, bleeding, aching, cast from flight to bruised and torn disrepair, unable to soar to the aid of any other. Those few who catch some glimpse of this hell toss bandaids at gaping wounds and occasionally pour an ounce of fire into this charred and uninhabitable space.
The very salve I require is not available to heal. Instead caustic words brand deeper in never healing wounds and cripple, weaken, crush the last remaining bits of me that are reaching out for the cure that I now see as only a mirage.
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