Monday, June 27, 2011

The Rubicon

The point of no return. The final stop. Truth or dare. The very last drop of decency that I could've squeezed out just for the sake of something that was in my heart. Nothing more. Nothing less. I keep my records. They're written in the darkest possible blood that drips from a soul ripped open with betrayal. The point of going forward. The point of true colours flying boldly, crowding the bluish-purple asphyxiated me. Lying colours. Denying colours. Screaming and spitting colours. If only people knew your true colours. Just be honest with yourself, why don't you? But of course, honesty requires courage. You, the one who made me cross the Rubicon, don't have that. You, who made me cross over to the other side, have little beyond beautiful falsehoods. May your falsehoods serve you well on your journey that will bring you to this point again and again. You talked of patterns. You are the biggest pattern of my life: me, the one who licks the hand with the dagger, and you, the ones who wield the dagger. No more. The Rubicon's crossed. No more. Go in peace which will never be yours.

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