Why didn't I listen when I was told the stories; Of how you broke the angel's wins, and unpurified the holy water that flowed in the river, how you were the rotted fruit that eve ate. How you started the creation of sins, and filled the angels with the colour of red
Why didn't I listen when I heard that you were the crimison red left after blood shed, How you scoffed at the sound of screams And laughed at the prescense of misery, How you made the sun hide and filled your victims lungs with the showdown of the night
I should've listened when I found out you painted your canvas not with warm honey but with wine, rich red wine, intoxicating their systems, making them beg for more, making them crave you, becoming addicted to your destruction, how you spoke words of nicotine, your flavour chosen of lies and unfulfilled promises
I know that because I didn't listen I am no longer a lion that roars are filled with fight, but I now carry the essence of an ant, my movements filled with the need to find For you were a bee, who stung me, Your sting of fragile glass, ready to be broken by a careless person, I should've listened to the stories of how you were no good soil, where plants didn't flourish but died, For now I know that you are the devil in disguise
and I,
your worshiper, ready to be ruined at your touch
YOU ARE READING
Poisonous words and enchanted lies
Poetrywho knew that lovers could rot from within a collection of poems dedicated to broken lovers
