I don’t expect to see you again,
As I’m choosing peace over your betrayal,
You’ve made your bed, now lie in it,
I hope it causes you no regret once you’re old and frail.
***
Give me the time and space that I now need,
To grieve for this monumental loss,
Don’t fret, I’m confident I’ll be just fine,
As I accept the end of this relationship you toss.
***
Time heals all wounds,
But to be effective, please gift me with your silence,
Don’t hold out a hand or a false hope,
So I can let go of the old time reliance.
***
Our time has come to an end,
Much to my complete shock,
Traded in for a better model,
The unnecessary outcome of wedlock.
***
Tomorrow will be a little better,
The day after my strength may start to return,
Another week or two may see me smile once more,
As I overcome the grief of your disloyalty burn.
***
I’ve always been dangerous in my own way,
It’s my secret super power,
I can love you to death one day,
The next walk away in strength and willpower.
***
Our bridge has now been burnt,
And as much as I struggled to put out the fire,
I’ve now to accept our destiny,
Since you put me out to pasture to retire.
***
I’m done and dusted I’m afraid,
Better in peace on my own,
For once I’m truly going to be thankful,
That you’re hopeless with a phone.
***
I don’t expect to ever see you again,
So please, I beg, honour me now with silence forever more,
You’ll continue to live in my precious memory,
But in this relationship, we need to shut the door.
***
So long and best wishes,
My heart will be shuttered and locked,
Your heartlessness has won out,
And from this day forward you are forever blocked.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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