IS THAT SO ? then why do you have to crawl back to me time & time again ? craving arguments & easy adrenaline, the mouthing of validating words through a grimace, sharp white gnashing frustration—forced admission that he is wrong at your endless defiance. only a fantasy, one you can’t let go of. af hverju er það ? deep down there’s a wound unhealable, festering pus & bile travelling up to a venomous throat, birthmark surfaces between organs, to her chest, that heart of yours, that brands you the poster child of hollywood’s neglect. so, you have to prove you’re more, right ? that you don’t need the trivial affirmation of superiors, disregarding the industry as phoney. it’s a role you were not awarded, but made to play, streaks of mascara-riddled tears, directors handling every woe to place picture-perfect in your tragic life, the feeling of stardom forsaken ; a role you never managed to escape from—a role you gave into. he can see it. all the bitter rage burning up within, trying to cauterise. heart beats systematically in his chest, his pulse still at her words.
“ what exactly did i tell you, hm ? some low blow jokes ? i mean, i didn’t mean to hurt you. ” words ring out, apathetic tone a dull but painful kick to her ribs - his eyebrow raises to the question, you are nothing but fault, a broken cog in a system so exploitive—how can she fix something that was never taught how to mend itself ? the last lie on his tongue lingers, he smiles briefly before it falters, hands clasped, “ i sense that you are more, mara, i just don’t see you reaching for it. if you want me to be honest. ” brutality from elegant lips, bait set / will she cling to it for any semblance of comfort ? there is some formidable actress in there, some mirror reflecting the darkest, most hidden shades of the human psyche, but beyond that idea—is the actuality, the slew of disasters waiting at her call, a mess of issues he doesn’t have the time nor care to help her fix. a wire mother bares no warmth. he has no time for patching old wounds, only piling bodies comprised of them. “ you are human, [ so am i, after all. ] flawed, but … not ever meeting your best, content at staying in this, pit. at the end of the day, i haven’t seen the change in you to prove me otherwise, there’s nothing else to it. ” you haven’t got what it takes to be me. you will never have it. can you take to the challenge, be stained with red forever, dearest hyena, or have your name in the credits audiences never quite stick around long enough to see ?