A rumor has it
there is an open season
for breaking hearts, but
I have never thought that you
are going to shatter mine.

She is a paradox
dead under the wholesome demeanor of honesty, beauty, and creativity
I find her sometimes underneath my darkest fears crawling up my throat
to express a voice of her own
I lock her in a prison of my own muffled screams
when no one is looking, I feed her one more rumor and insecurity
she is insatiable and I have lost my balance
The broken key is lodged in my throat and I am drowning in space
She is the paradox, that is me

They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?

Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.

And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like *******, the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.

For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...