Word Weaponry II

"Damn." I think to myself afterwards. While I appreciate your particular brand of honesty, it still pushes against me like a violent gust of wind. In this moment, I am no longer ample form. I am a feather, and your words carry me away. Up. Up. Up. I am primed for a drop, and just as I can taste the venom in your speech, I can see you go alarmingly still. This descent was inevitable. I love that you never tell me what I want to hear, but your truth still hits me like a mighty blow. I am imbalanced and breathless and trying to make it all make sense. My world goes out of focus. I am grappling to stay conscious and on my feet. I cannot stifle the ringing in my ears. I'm slipping. Down. Down. Down. I am primed for a fall, and just as I can hear the contempt in your voice, I can see you sidestep my outstretched hands. This defeat was unstoppable. "Damn." This time, I say it aloud, and I do not care if anyone overhears. Here I am, going to pieces in plain view. Your words accost me over and over and over, and I wonder if this is by strategy or chance. I wonder if my pain is comparable to your disappointment. We inflict ourselves on each other. It used to be a scintillating madness; now it is just debilitating chaos. I reel from your words, and you recoil from mine.