he talks about her like she hung the stars in the sky, but all you can think is that whoever did hang the stars in the sky must have been cruel beyond belief- because who would create such beautiful points of light, just to have them implode and make the galaxies quake.
he talks about her so softly, like she’s the most delicate thing he’s ever held in his arms, but you can’t help believing that souls who are designed with grace don’t believe they are the Gods of creation, entitled to all of the most beautiful moments given by the universe without any concern for others or the consequences their actions bare towards another entity.
you find yourself wondering if she’d even notice a miracle if it was placed in her lap, but then again, deep down, you know she must not ponder any spectacular moment she’s given, she greedily takes it on a whim, not knowing or caring what the aftermath will be- not unlike Pandora and her monstrous box.
your mind knows that even when he’s looking at you, and you find yourself believing maybe there was a glimmer of love or care or decency in his eyes, that he’s reserved it for her.
how lonely it is just to be a placeholder.
to be so hopelessly taken by someone who wants nothing more than to come and go when he needs you, but not to handle your heart when you break over and over and over again.
but that’s the thing about narcissistic men- they start off painting pictures of these grandiose moments in their lives, exuding magnetism and charm, and they really make you believe in every little lie that falls out of their mouths- they turn you into a shrike and while all of this is happening you have no idea that you too, will fall victim to his thorn, just another unsuspecting girl who’s so drunk in his momentary affection to realize that everything he says goes nothing deeper than the surface until he’s bored and you’ve just pierced your own soul on his green blade laced with acetone truths.
but you’re not good enough for his image- the girls who hang the stars in the sky in his world are the girls who make themselves look picture perfect and are not open and real and raw about their lives, they are the girls who hide every moment they regret, every moment they were ashamed, the moments they felt disgusting- but let’s not forget she must be as narcissistic as he is.
so while you’re devouring all the lies that taste like honey that are just drip, drip, dripping, off of his desitin coated tongue- hes reveling in napalms and destruction
because he truly doesn’t care, and he never will.
you’re not sure if he’s capable of that.
you’re just caught up in the blast.
and when the shell shock hits and your knees are weak and shaking and you’re not entirely sure why he feels entitled to just pull your panties down enough to use you even though he’s finished with you, he takes the last thing you have- your security in him- and devours it like the devil devours a sinner.
but you stay silent as a stone, and you smile and you exchange niceties and you joke around and you pretend that you’re okay because nothing could be worse than the person you once thought hung the stars in the sky knowing that being in their presence now makes you feel like a war prisoner stuck until death.
and that’s what you pray for.
the release that’s sweeter than the oxytocin that his words once released in your brain.
he’s all smokestacks and greed, and god, wasn’t it so obvious?
