Condolences Of A Broken Man

I am the shadow that you watch over your shoulder for in suspicion.
I am the night owl that can tell you everything that you want to hear.
I am the sunlight to your vision when you think that nothing but darkness will prosper upon the sunrise.
I am the deep depths of the valley that inhibits your path of climbing that mighty mountain.
I am the hammer that only aims to pound nails into hearts until they shatter like glass.

To the women who saw me as a king in their eyes, I was truly there to blur your vision.
I've spent time tattooing my name on your heart, letter by letter, just for you to think it would be a work of art, but instead it just leaves a messy, everlasting scar.
To ever think that you would sit upon a throne anywhere in my galaxy, I applaud your optimism.
Sadly, how could you be so blind.
Women seem to get caught in the web of love.
Laying upon its structure like a hammock, but then begin to struggle to escape when they start to feel trapped.
You see, I am a counterfeit presentation of a real man that would serve you as the queen that you may truly be.
But I refuse to crown you with that honor.
And there isn't any receipt for the cheap luxury of love that you bought.

I've dug deep to find that true love, but I've been buried beneath the turmoil and tarnished ashes of their previous relations and family tensions.
Then they proceed to blind my vision of their true depiction behind artificial luxuries that they've promised and presented.
Her eyes were beautiful like those of Medusa and when they meet the eyes of another, they can turn a gentle, silky heart to rigged stone.
She was the rain on my window pane.
With every drop of her lovely essence it reigned more pain.
The exploited pleasures of being within her temple can steer any man to the wrong gates.
My imagination ran wild of what could have been, but never would be.
I've walked that hopeful road, in spite of the pessimistic nay sayers.
For so long I've battled in the war between the hopeful and the hopeless.
Only to endure scars upon those battles.
Scars that can't be healed like the limbs of amputees.
Sometimes only left with just having to accept that a piece of me is gone forever.

So tell me, is my mentality wrong.
Upon every female soul I speculate her intentions, constantly reading her signals from the way she smiles to the way she talks and walks.
Trying to ridicule the emulating sun in their smiles with shade.
Trying to transition the specks of starlight in their eyes to a gaping black hole.
Trying to water down the smooth sound of jazz in their voices.
And trying to mummify their majestic strides as they dance like ballerinas into a man's soul to prove to myself that there's nothing but a dead woman inside them.
Regardless I never negate to wear my bulletproof vest.
So when cupid shoots aiming for targets, my heart is never struck.
But for my victim, God give her the strength to mend her heart.
I rarely support the breaking of hearts, but in this war it is kill first or be killed.
I guess I'm just learning how to play the game.
Going to any measures to win.
To bury my myself within fear and hate and fear and hesitant worry.
Haunted by thoughts that I could be broken once again if I allow myself to succumb to the desire of the heart of a woman.

I've mended the pieces of my heart that has been broken, but for the piece of my heart that I gave to my forsaken love, it is in her possession.
Which means that the reason I am puzzled over this love term is because I can never fully complete mine.
And any other puzzle piece wouldn't fit and otherwise would just be crammed within the confines of my heart and damage the pieces surrounding it.

To my future victims, I truly apologize to you and your fragile hearts.
Within the process of reconstructing and fixating all of the pieces to my incomplete puzzle, I tore apart other's to piece mine together.
And you weren't immune to my diseased plans of injecting malice of something incurable in your bloodstream.
For you did not know what would become.

You became a casualty, pierced by my stray bullet intended for a heartbreaker/woman who aimed to slaughter every artery that fueled the love in a man's chest.
I just had to make sure that I didn't become that man once again.
I send my condolences to that woman with a once warm heart now sheltered within an igloo lost in a Tundra.
The one that will be forced to endure the chilling essence of an avalanche of deception and the burning sensation of lava after the volcanic eruption of lies that will leave your soul in despair and hope to become nothing but ashes.
And I'm sorry if you became that woman in the process.