Choice and the Runaway

This utter feeling of despair is ceaseless.
I don't want it anymore.
Sure, you can say it is my choice.
In fact, I say it to myself.

My choice.
Certainly, it is my choice to stay when I am consumed by anguish.
So, do I stay and continue to feel so wholly despondent?
I am empty.
Nothing to give.
Nothing to do except go through the motions of my life.

The life I adored so completely until...
Until I was poly-bombed (while I despise that word, it suits).
Until the rug of my perfect life was whisked away.
Until everything I cherished became unbearable.

My choice.

To stay:
Continue to be hopelessness and empty.
Until my Master tires of the barren and lifeless body that is my own.
And his.
Tires of the emptiness that is inside me.
Until my Master despises and resents me.

To go:
Where to go?
Someplace else.
Someplace far away.
Someplace to hide.
Someplace to be until the darkness takes the pain away.

I don't know if I have the strength left to decide.