Outdated Feelings

I arrived expectantly at a splendour I thought was mine, a charm fizzling out in the direction of dying excitements. Anger is the expression in my heart and I’m embittered as I drop the humungous weight of a mad tempest.

We were an ultra-perfect couple who found the first lights of the sun with a camaraderie drifting on the ripples of time. Flamboyance defined our boundless lifestyle and we commingled in the culture of elite socialites.

I flaunted your sultry kisses in male locker rooms and bragged of an affectionate, feminine icon. The moments were designed to flatter your gorgeous appeal and I stole your glances with the stealth and cunning of shoplifters.

You touched my circumstances with delight and gave me the spotlight of star celebrities. Your charm had tricks to mesmerise an unruly, boisterous audience, and though gold is rich with special effects, you do more to refurbish my shine and make me your idol.

Paradise flourished where our feet went and we cautioned the brilliance of a fickle sun. Our mannerisms drew a society of romance enthusiasts and gave joy the audacity to be candid and unapologetically explosive.

But now your thrill dwindles as the transience of steam and your tingle is short-lived as wisps of smoke. You’ve detached your identity from this empire of emotions and walk the landscapes of the free world.

Therefore I’m bitter and upset as an irate beast and I’m coming with footsteps bent on slaughter. I cringe from the portion of sour love and the elements that constitute my humanity are frenzied and in utter disarray.

I’ve found a chapter I’m quick to conclude and a session that must be terminated abruptly. You’re a soulless creature weaving lies into a fanciful masterpiece and luring me into spaces that paint a false idyll for besotted sweethearts.

So I’m tortured now I’m bankrupt of love and I welcome surreal events that leave me appalled and shuddering. One minute, I’m immersed in the abysmal waters of bliss, and the next, I’m contending with a hypocritical facade with a bold front.

The hands that assault me are murderers of men and I call the days to come with balm for my grievous wounds. I’m soaked in apathy and flabbergasted amidst these potent lies, but the tenure of my lifetime will always voice these ugly, outdated feelings.

© Valentine Nnebe 2025

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