Poetry

A Samson of Sorts

You were my Delilah, in a way

Deceived me with words of affection while you plotted against me

When you left, I shaved my own head and became something less than ordinary

Gouge my eyes out, please, I would not look upon the false pity of others, their momentary concern

I cannot bring down any pillars save one, myself, for I am not the pillar of strength everyone believes me to be and I cannot feign confidence anymore

This pillar will crumble to the ground and I’ll be the only victim because the onlookers will step carefully aside

They will offer no assistance but watch me tear myself down with marked disinterest

As I lie bleeding and dying, I note that my hair has begun to grow back, but it is too late

All that I was went with my hair and with you and I postulate that this perhaps means I was nothing to begin with

Nothing but a malleable, gullible puppet whose only gift (crime?) was loving you

2 thoughts on “A Samson of Sorts”

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