I tried to build a house of silk for us.
Soft walls that would grow with us
and beautiful windows that allowed light in.
But you wanted a home of steel,
stubborn words and set ways.
So you covered our windows
with lies made of titanium
and you told me they were curtains.
You put in an iron door that refused to break.
I thought you did all these things to
protect us,
but in reality you did them to hide me.
When I left I knew that
everything was wrong.
You sharpened your words like knives,
and you left bruises on my heart
that match the bruises on my body.
Those bruises shared the same shape
as your finger tips.
You tore down our home,
tearing me apart with it.
You set the ruins on fire
and watched our dreams burn until
they were nothing but ashes.
Then with a smile you say to me
"I never loved you",
and to this day I'm wondering
if that was true or not.
Comments1
Cheap shots are fiction that only serve to bolster selfish moments compensating for misplaced hubris that hides their fear and shame. False pride marks them , owns them, and gifts you w assurances and joy of a private smile.
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