The Death of Cupid

Hey guys, hope you’re doing well. Tonight I thought I’d share a piece I wrote a few years back. No one has seen this until now, I hope you enjoy this little creative writing piece….

I dreamt of you once again, a bittersweet sub-conscious reunion as it always is. You starred at me with that piercing glance, causing every dark thought to commence in a never ending game of tag.

The all too common small talk is exchanged as if we were awkward strangers exchanging pleasant introductions. My mind pondering the equation, searching for a solution as to why we continue this dull dance every time we meet in this fogged place. This is becoming beyond my understanding, but spin and swirl I will, just to toy with you.

Perhaps this dance of ours is our twisted way of suffocating the obvious. Perhaps it is just the two of us stupidly playing chicken. Unnoticably, a comforting conversation on a deeper level forms and that all too uneasy feeling numbs my mind, for only you have been the one who knows how to crack my shell and visa-versa.

These dreams of you, of us, have been the most challenging to murder. As much as I love these sub-conscious visits and seeing your calming presence, these dreams need to stop, now. I need these dreams to quit playing during my stolen hours and I mean stop in a big bad way. These dreams are hurting my core, these dreams are causing me to hope for wishes that will never come true.

You and I were never meant to be in reality, no matter the feelings that lay on the table. Why my sub-conscious can’t copy and paste this information is beginning to frustrate. My minds rambunctious thoughts need to let this theory go, if not for their own sanity then for mine.

Tonight this static fantasy will end. Tonight I will allow myself to sleep so that the demons can come out and play. I will raise my hands in the air as the darkness recites me my rights. I will deny any representation and allow those playful demons to press the suicide button.

“Do not look for my heart anymore, the beasts have eaten it”. – Charles Baudelaire

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