Oh, how stomach-churning every moment my gazes rested on you was, In a literal talk, every inch I walked towards you had dispersed me wildly from my authenticity injecting my soul with the slightest but the most profound atrocities of this existence, namely turning me into a cannibalistic assassin…

You a punted creature with some shuddered filthy eyes, the master of adulation, how could you make me feel like a sadistic judge who’s malignantly imposed death penalties on some innocent persons who’re holding their alibi in their blessed hands?

And yet, the one you’ve always worshiped is approaching you with those usual firm steps.
I’m clearly telling you, It could never be true, yet stubbornly you’re chasing my unfathomable shade…Seeing shadows of me , living with such a silhouette.

You’re sensing it with a clenching hand internalized to a toxic burst of hatred against the one who had left you woozy in her eddy…
you’re pushed to the limit to encircle it…
Regardless of being heartbroken and full of agony, you’re still unable to stand that fantasy of getting caught by my eyes in that sick imagination of yours, nor to stand being alive after them…

You feel your nerves getting flushed, but how to overshadow your paralysis now especially that you don’t know anymore towards which version of me you are to feel hostility…

And yet, you’re purely proving how helpless you’re to get lost in my answerless world again…
out of nowhere you’re again overwhelmed by the infection of the contradiction of my meekness. you’re about to admit that your limitless affection is definitely dedicated to me, only if you were able to figure out why it’s the same thing with the tremendous hatred accumulated in your heart!

However the sun appears to have another opinion in this regard, or else why would it shine by midwinter’s madness?
You’re dying to open your eyes again, but the beams… Oh you just can’t…

You’re forever to enjoy the company of the last haunting memory of me sitting my foot on that damned shadow of yours that has always been intimidating to you…

But this time it’s not pity, it’s merely a foreign sort of intense revulsion ,as though I am drawing a filthy hair after it had made its way to my tonsils, Im to extract my holy memory out of your head, but please understand how like chemotherapy it is, that is to say, destined to kill that cancerous memory in addition to the benign ones…

fatimä

Fatima Chahneh

Author Fatima Chahneh

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