Walking on Tiptoe

You are a living plague. One that tampers with every fragment of my already fragile mind; one that devours on every inch of my existence; one that devastates every single iota of my life. You bring nothing but harm. It is funny that you don’t desire bloodshed but rather in all laudable acts of pretence, you severely maim.

But I allowed it.

It was ludicrous of me to have permitted you to excel in what people call “Vile acts of Mutilation”. I am no masochist, but I must be mental to have enjoyed you slicing me open with nothing but a sanitized scalpel.

You are my kryptonite.

Whenever you are around, the temperature plummets, pulling on the hairs on my body. Whenever you are around, there will be a reverberation that resounds in the room, drowning out all other noises. Your presence made my eyes dilate, my breath hold, my heart palpitate wildly, and my thoughts go fuzzy. Your presence commanded me to devote my complete attention to you.

What for?

I don’t know except for the fact I mustn’t let you know my presence. Yes, I am insignificant. Yes, I am nobody. I am undeserving of your glance.

Whenever you are around, I walk on tiptoe.



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