I have had one true love. Our love was great. It burned with such passion and fire that our hands touching could light a spark strong enough to burn down an entire village. But cliches were never my thing. They especially weren't his. He despised cliches. He did everything in his power to make sure we weren't the ordinary cliche. He didn't succeed exactly. Until the end. The end was as far from cliche as one could imagine. Cliche with romantic texts and staying up late to be the first one to wish a happy birthday. Cliche with promise of the future and dreaming of our life together. Cliche. Parts of me too large were entranced by cliche. Over time I think he grew to hate them. Over time I think he grew tired. As we all would. Cliche. I believed the sparks would dim but never burn out, the heat would never diminish, only cool, to a low sizzle, until one day a gust of wind picked up providing enough fuel for the fire to get started again and the embers would grow into a burning red flame and the cliches would begin again. How cliche of me to think. Unfortunately, life isn't a cliche. It never was with him. The sparks were put to bed with a bucket of cold lake water and it ended in hot steam. Cliche. Comparing relationships to fire. Cliche. My mind was always strung on cliches. Even now. There was no fire when he left. Only smoke. Trapped in the tangles of my hair. Cliche. He left burns in the home he called my heart. Cliche. They compare love to fiery passion but forget to mention that fire burns like hell. Cliche. Maybe you weren't my love, maybe you were my hell. Cliche, I know.
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-Bell
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Corrupted Thoughts
Poetrycor·rupt kəˈrəpt/ verb 1. cause to act dishonestly in return for money or personal gain. cause to become morally depraved 2. change or debase by making errors or unintentional alterations. cause errors to appear in
