If there was a way to show that the entanglement in my mind was not a reflection of anything other than a deep loathsome impatience with my distorted logic and irrational spontaneity that would somehow absolve you of your pain, frustration – somehow dispel the notion that I am the lesser portion of a loving man who is incapable of expressing consistently a pure message of true love in their actions – if there were then I would take it.
Since there’s not, I am torn between cowardice and veracity in my sentiment, though precluded by that peculiar mental twist all addicts have at one point or another, that the dichotomous personalites of nurturing sweetness and indifference with callous disrespect are both real and actual versions of me.
Instead, the quagmire expands, I feel the split become as a divisive creature vibrant and devilish in its behaviors. A lunatic butterfly erupting with shades of misanthropic flailing across the personalities and care of the beautiful shapes all around. Whiplashing with infantile purification of all that is and was ever to be good.