All I ever wanted was to be loved.
Not the one where they adore you on display and act as though your heart was on their mind.
Not the one where they water you on and off as they see fit.
Not the one where they left you to grow under the sun and rain.
Not the one where they said, "Everything is alright. You'll be fine just where you are. All you have to do, is sit there."
That is their "love" in disguise of false promises, of false hopes. An entoxicating luscious syrup that melted my skin and bones into the gardens of cement. Caramelizing my body and soul in a cage filled with only me.
I realized.. I wasn't..
This wasn't love.
I wasn't loved.
Even when they said they'd always be there for me.
Even when they said they loved and cared about me.
Even when they said they wanted or needed me.
Even when they told me I was important.
Even when they said they always thought of me.
Even when they said they'd protect me.
I wasn't...
And they didn't...
How did I know if I didn't witness their vows in action?
Because.
That's exactly why.
They didn't.
Not a single vow taken seriously.
They weren't always there for me.
They silently echoed "I love you" under their breath but not to my face, only to the air around me, fully observing the soil but not the seed.
Yet I went hours, days, months, then years without a single drop of water. They didn't expect to take responsibility because Heaven was full of drenching particles. I only had my tears and the sky above me to sustain my soul.
I layed where I was casted into the Earth, buried by the mineral threads of sugar. This finely cased display, layered in laces of honey.
That's how I know. That's how I knew.
I was never loved.
Love was never given to me, only told to me, reaching the back of my eardrums but not beneath the myocardium. The glucose surrounding me, consumed the traces of oxygen leaving my body with every exhale, stealing it into the fabric of sucrose, melding oxygen into their carbon.
Chained in their woven crystaled silk, molting my body into the shape they desired.
At the highest point of their gallery, I watched them consume the glasses of oceaned syrup, never quenching their thirst yet never emptying their glass.
Their eyes glossed with sunset glimmer, their skin coated and dyed in caramel gold, their teeth carbon stained.
I watched them fill their glasses over and over and over and over again, never emptied, but never filled.
I watched them. The sands of seconds spilled into the hourglass, over and over and over, a never ending loop of time, like rewatching an overplayed episode.
I was forgotten. Even though I was displayed on their syruped walls, left with my flesh rotting, scarred by the years of molten glucose, depriving me of oxygen and water.
And with the throbbing suffocation of my heartbreak, under the greatest fear, my abyss, I decided to cut the intricate braided strings of crystalized sunset amber. Scissors aren't enough. I would need to chip at the carbon bonds to slip inbetween the gaps of gases if I wanted to escape from their so called "loving house".