I arose to the sweet smell of tulips that gently caressed my wide nostrils. An unexpected gentle knock hit the tinted wooden door. I strutted downstairs, barefoot, to see who had knocked and came to visit. With my hair un-brushed, and my brain still half asleep, I opened the door to a black figure.

“Hello, my name is Toxicity, nice to meet you,” said the tall and slim figure.

This was the day everything changed.

I had imagined toxicity as a vulgar, horrifying monster who only took away from people. But that was never it. You kept me company as I invited you from a sense of loneliness. You were a warm being who radiated such angelic energy. I confessed all my deep and dark thoughts to you; I was desperate for someone to hear my plea.

You sat there attentively, always inquisitive and willing to hear more. Little did I know it didn’t sprout from a place of genuine care, but from a place of evil and cruelty.

The more I fed you my thoughts, the more gruesome you became. You violently took my fears and made them a reality, replicating all my pain again and damaging every inch of my already broken soul. You stabbed at my insecurity, wounds reopening. You ate at my broken pieces, sufficing your hunger and leaving me open and vulnerable.

I needed to get away from you, to isolate myself, yet I craved the attention. I tried to run, but was paralysed by the recurring thoughts of loneliness if I made you leave. I looked at you and saw the most beautiful, yet detrimental being.

My thoughts contradicted themselves. You poisoned everything you touched, yet made someone feel so desirable. I was fighting a battle with myself on how I would instruct you to leave, but that never happened. You left on your own accord, selectively leaving my life, which felt more excruciating than me telling you to leave or even death. When you left, you burnt a hole in my soul, a hole in the shape of you. Toxicity the person.


Tell us: What do you think of this piece and the metaphor of toxicity?