Do you really think that a grown woman like me needs someone like you to be “the big man of my life?” My dear, you are sorely mistaken. I was splitting the Earth to pave the road to my progression long before you spewed that smoke through your lips. I was building the pieces of myself much before you were calling yourself a man. You have no idea of the hells that I’ve traveled to get to this point. Don’t forget, this life already taught me to never trust a man.
One day, I too, will cease to be as will all pathways leading to me. Hopefully you will immortalize me each day in your memory. Unfortunately sometimes we may have to leave, quite unwillingly.
Wisteria skies are on fire with the pretty pink and purple petals against the backdrop of red and orange sky-flames. Time shifts and rolling white foamy clouds fill a cold sky as hail and snow fall in disorderly ways. The warm liquid pours down my throat, leaving a burning sensation when all outside is freezing. My hand is held and I am wrapped in strong and safe arms. I just had the realization that the skies mirrored what I once called love.
There grew parts of us that no longer fit like they used to. Every other word a torrential downpour crushing, inundating the ground beneath our feet. Between our bodies opened a gash due to the pouring rain softening our foundation until we slowly drifted away. The rains grew heavier as our hands outstretched and we gave in under the weight. I guess… Our passion, once a flame, has now been doused away.
My favorite part is when they think they know it all. They only know the nice parts of me.
I keep my fangs hidden away, so do they belong to vampire or serpent?
You fucked with the wrong person today.
It’s doubtful that they ever knew how inside of you trickled a tiny stream of phrases promising without delivery an action that never arrived. It’s dubious that they ever imagined that the tiny rivulet would become secret floodwaters within you that one day would drown out all ideas pertaining to them as the surge broke down the wooden posts only half-blocking their phrases from the machines within your head that processed the wood into truth. Little did they all know that within you were compartmentalizations of them that became a burden too heavy to hear by the cabinets inside of you that held their weight. Shocked will they be when the contents fall to the floor and the flood eroded the wooden structure of the homes they built within you with your permission. Fortunate will you be when all that is broken is washed away leaving you with a clean slate to build your own walls.
I looked at our old pictures and nearly fell in love again,
A whirlwind of butterflies so bittersweet—oh the pain.
I guess all that I dreamt of was a waste and in vain.