Treason


He watched his miracle curdle in the grooves of his palm. To have and to hold had grown sour the moment he decided to hold onto his ill intentions. 

His lips, stained with sin, hung heavy and full of fear, he couldn’t help but sit soundless and still. The words he searched for dissolved into puddles of regret.  He had forgotten his senses, he had wondered for far too long and only wandered into his own nightmare. Sleepless will this mans mind grow with each day. A guilty man knows no rest lest his mind find justice.

It was behind a smile that his undoing sprouted wings. A smile, brandished so sweetly, walked into life holding the key to his misery. How was she to know she was a volatile tonic, prying open a mind wild with the perennial plague of unlived yesterdays. A hollow void of thoughts that when roused, seemed more than ready to unravel the bedrock of his conscience. She wasn’t conscious of the man behind the empty smile, all laughter and merriment, she was unaware of the dissolution of harmony.

An innocent taste of the possibilities seemed tangible in her words. She draped her cares loosely around her tongue, talking in tones that craved company into the thick night. He felt certain to be safe from the prying eyes of his sensibility. It was a night of secret escapes, played in the key of greed and strummed on the cobbled streets of a crumbling kingdom.

His climbing back into sense was not enough to fight off the stench of treason. It hung close to him, it followed him as he walked. When his stint with sin was spent, his face was a wasted shade of an oath he had taken at an alter, man and wife now strangers. Matrimony, once making kingdoms whole, when broken leaves holes in a frayed fabric of trust. Insecurity, fear , resentment, these are the relics of his twisted fantasy, the shackles that hold him prisoner to his guilt, the execution that hold his as ward over his purgatory.
Where do sinners go when they die?

When dreams are stolen, when trust is broken, when the blood of a promise runs thick, where does the jury convene? Maybe justice can settle the heart, for a guilty man knows no rest lest his mind finds justice.

 

 

Author: The Blissful Nomad

I'm a writer, Poet, Spoken Word Artist who fell in love with words at a weird time in my life. A chance to create is precious, getting to share what my mind pieces together is something special. I hope you enjoy reading, feel free to get in touch, any feedback is appreciated.

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