as a letter read
by an angry ex lover
who in a moment of emotional confrontation
just fucking loses all control.
I'm infantile like that at times.
I'm inward, drawn up tight into my intellectual cocoon.
It's fucking safe in here with all my thoughts of disassociation.
I can't always be amused by your disdain for my natural forte.
Sometimes I just need to hide - not from you, but from my exterior self.
You can't grasp what I never let you see - I've learned this skill as survival.
I excel at self deception and replication of the facade you most desire.
I'll destroy what you've come to love about me.
My predictability.
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