Dear Mr. Hyde

I don’t see you very often, but our brief encounters seem to linger on the cortex of my mind.

I am left striped of all my senses and left barren and confused.

Much like when you get a paper cut, the initial sting isn’t as bad as the lasting burn later.

You are the juice of a lemon that reminds me of a wound I try and cover with a permeable bandaid. So blissfully sweet my memory slip. How exhausting to be reminded.

Every time we meet it’s like it’s soaked in arsenic. It festers and boils.

I do try to keep our pleasantries at the for front of time shared but it seems like hell is bent on incinerating my soul.

We simply have to stop meeting like this.

We must stop meeting like this.

I refuse to be conquered by your small ego.

I won’t be diminished by your false sense of security.

I am not your pin cushion.

I brought my own needles.

A light shines its brightest in the dark.

Without the moon or stars night would deafen us all.

I am that light you seek, but I can’t heal your pain with my own.

We must stop meeting like this.

You’ll self destruct if we don’t.


The Other Half