The wreck of me (because of you)

Punishment after punishment. That's how my burden endures. That's how I can feel my own burden growing in me, flourishing the same way daisies flourish during the summer. Growing at such a rate that not even math is capable of keeping pace with its speed. Growing at such a rate that what's left of me, the wreck of me can only be compared to a a ravaged city after a flood. I can feel it rising like a sunset, ripening like grapefruit.
I've always been able to feel grief, but now it's become so tangible that I can even see it. Grief has a face now. Grief has a name now- your name. Grief has a cause, whose efects you can clearly measure in the pieces of this new, washed-out me. Yes, I've been drawn into a 24/7 mourning state. Because it's just not fair. You are not fair; nothing is nowadays, anyway, but I get to complain only about you because that I care. That I care the most, actually.
Fuck this shit. It's funny that this particular song has just started playing as I type. But Belle&Sebastian might be right. Fuck this poetic shit. Fuck you, fuck me - maybe in both literal and metaphorical ways-, fuck everyone, fuck everything. But above them all, fuckers, fuck this shit i'm so done coping with.
Sometimes all we need is a breeze of fresh air, a heavy storm to wash away our misery, a strong wind to clear our mess up a little bit, and if it were possible, to take away with its blow the deepest-rooted problems -dear hell, what a relief that would be.Or someone. Sometimes we just need someone. And there's nothing that can replace that. There's nothing able to fill such a gap. Sometimes there's nothing, but that person. In this vast, crowded, loaded world, there can be nothing but one single person that seems to put everything in its right place just by standing at your side. And when that happens, believe me, you are definetely screwed.
After a flood, you can always build a new city. Every morning the sun will rise, and daisies will keep on flourishing every summer. But when you lose the one that has cast an alluring spell on you, there's no turning back; there's not such thing as a recovery when you are dealing with this disease. When they take your heart away, when that person leaves you empty-handed, empy-chested and runs away with what is yours- not only your heart, but your thoughts, your laughter, your will, you name it-, that's when you should star worrying. That's the point where you should realize this person isn't a John-doe, they are far from that. That someone is the one, the one and only, the exception to all your rules, the one that sees through the walls you've built, the one that controls your every move, almost unwillingly. Even if they aren't there for you the way you want them to be. Even if you aren't their person, they still are yours, and little can you do about that. And then again, in spite of everything, there is nothing, but that person in your tiny little world. Nothing.

AND.IT.SUCKS.
(badly)