Twisted

how often
have I
stood here
on the edge of madness,
ready to jump
with
clenched fists
pacing back and forth,
broken… while you
stood there
content,
to see me wallow
bleed
among depths of despair.
my doomed echoes
reverberating
on padded walls
dismissed, as usual
and you
so sure of yourself
that
I would
take this leap
as before
with
no remorse, no recourse
of consequence to my soul,
no more.
the winds have
shifted,
and veils were lifted
as I saw you
for what you are,
empty
pitiful,
pathetic
and yet
strangely enough,
with my nostrils
filled
with nothing, but
your putrid stench
of desperation,
did you really think
I was willing,
twisted enough
to catch you,
still...