Last October, I gave you my heart and the very second you saw it throbbing in my unworthy hands, you threw it on the ground, kicked it, spat on it, set it on fire with your eyes of mud and gold.
You asked me how much of a fool was I.
My sweet love made of dark and of blue topaz, my darling December child.
I'm sorry you can't appreciate a gift.
But if you jugde hers fit,
I'll have no other choice than to serve the coldest, sweetest dish to my best enemy.
For she's the one to blame for my misery.
She planted a dreaded seed in me.
Even the coldest, vilest of men fear it.
For her treason, I will make sure she burns in the darkest pits of hell, that she suffers the greatest torments.
She will, as always, beg for mercy. No one will help. No one ever does.
And I know exactly which wounds to rub salt on.
After all, I know me the best.
YOU ARE READING
winter colors
Poetry"I first saw you on a September day Made me feel things I wish I'd never felt Too often, you took my breath away. Then came the winter, cold, lonely and hopeless, too Grey, a color I despised before you A color I hated after you." winter colors II...
