Walking hand in hand
By beamish
Walking hand in hand with the corpse of her past leaves little room to
ask questions about the future.
The ghost is very demanding, both in time and memory.
She isn't my friend, she's here to bend my mind to a time when her hair
was the scent I dreamed of.
When the highlight of my day was her smile when she glanced my way.
But the burn of our words melted us apart.
Now I stare at the grave on my heart.
Wondering when the cold mud was warm sand.
Or was it always an illusion of love disguised as a wolf.
Wanting to eat what wasn't to be served.
The double talk must have taken over a mind so simple because what started
as love has ended in nothing less than a lust for hate.
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Copyright 2016 beamish
Published on Thursday, March 17, 2016.
Filed under:
"Poetry"