Sadly she was the one to walk away with tears exposed on her pale cheeks.
Crumbling down
Patiently as they fell
On the red floor.
Constantly reminding her
Of the magenta
Circling her left eye.
She continued to cry even when she knew
She didn't want, not anymore.
She cried silently from the pain screaming
On her body.
Slowly, she rose her arm to meet her temple.
Wiping away the soaked wetness,
Careful not to hurt the livid skin.
Was there ever an end?
Was this true love?
It were never love if she ever got hurt.
She was never loved if she
Was the only one believing in it.
It was time.
Time to walk away.
Time to separate.
YOU ARE READING
Portraits of her heart
PoetryTo all poet enthusiasts, well this is for you. This lovely book is a third person narrative, and yes it's full of poetry whereby you find romance, somber, melancholy, hurt, ecstasy, love, affection, fondness, remorse and a whole lot more. So please...
