Coming of Age.

Though my love for you remains unchanged, as we sift through the pieces of our past, now estranged. These padded walls and restraints could not even succeed at making me feel more deranged than you did whenever you would act so strange. Our puzzle remains undone, as our story unfolded to reveal that you were not the one. Not to be outdone, I toyed with your emotions, played you like Russian Roulette, and my words were the gun. I pulled the trigger every time I berated you, filled your head with bullets when I would lament that you were slowly making me lose it. My sanity somehow survived the suffering that singed me every time you would avert your eyes. Your gaze phased me more than the grays of my moods that would drown me in sorrow for several stifling days. Yet somehow I stayed amused, bound to you, allowing myself to wrap further around your fingers as if yours was the hand that fed me; but you misled me. Once I became cognizant of the evil and villainous nature it was so easy for you to assume, the walls around me started to cave in, making it hard for me to breathe, as if I was trapped inside the room filled with an unsurmountable and impending sense of doom. Pricked my heart on your loom one too many times for me to resume, or remain within the confines of chaotic control that would consume me, like fire furiously flickers becoming wildfire and spreading through forests ferociously. I am burn victim number one, and you are number two; the damage cannot be reversed now that the pages of our legacy are the reasons why we are both cursed. Revelations of rage run wild, forcing me to remain caged; we are both damaged, although we have finally come of age.