✧ "Rot"
>> I am not that flower you look for so dearly among the waste. I am what you hate.
I am the rot that chokes you, I am the shard that brings nothing but despair.
The air you breathe around me will not be that familiar warmth. It will be the cold and foulness of death, just as I am.
I am the broken, the withered there to ruin us all. I'm that bitter taste, the one you'll die with.
For that is all I can be, the rot to ruin all, the weed to spread forever. Death itself follows me, it consumes me, for I am it, and I am nothing short of destructive.
The rot will eat you, and it will come for I was with you; I am not just death, I'm a carrier of despair, the unhealed wounds of years, I am a curse.
One that comes, and no matter how far you run, the effect is there forever. Like a mold, that will always continue to come back.
>> The rot does not choke me anymore, for I found the first time things did not wither before me.
I have found purpose, yet I don't fully understand how. Or even, why.
But, the rot cannot consume, the withered cannot eat at what used to be me. Now, I am alive.
I am whole.
I am loved.
>> I am un-whole, and truly that does not bother me. There may be voids or gaps within what constructs into "Me" but, the shards that don't quite exist, perhaps were better left alone.
It is not as if I cannot survive without them, those gaps once whole felt like an overwhelming rot there to crush and take all away with it..
Now they are gone, the rot withered away itself, taking no more with it...
I am unwhole. But I am not. The rot will follow me, I will regain it and loose it time and time again.. But the shards of me that make up this incomplete form are fine too.
We are shards that resemble enough.. maybe not all areas fit perfectly, leaving a crumbling broken feeling, but we can still connect. The rot will fill those gaps too, then leave as it passes.
There are shards that once stretched out further then now. Because now. Not from a withering but from own strain, have they cracked further.
I am a broken mirror, But I do not see myself as broken. The shards may not fully fit, the pain and hurt may be visible still.. But I can still see to the reflection.
I am not in it alone, for I'm more then what I appear to be..
I am not broken, cracked perhaps, but not unsavable. To be truly broken, is to look at that mirror.. And see nonthing at all. A broken mirror, is a mirror that cannot reflect.
I am not broken, just cracked.
Pieces can fit together, and sometimes in between things will come and go, good or bad, to close the gap, before too as beforehand all do.. Leave.
I am not whole, yet.
I feel as if that's okay.
I don't need to be whole, being sometime for now is more then enough.