How bitter of a thing you are, Love.
Upon your taste,
One expects hints of wild berries,
Upon your scent,
Roses and fresh grass carresssed by morning dew.
And upon your touch,
Soft silk and warm water.
Instead, one receives nothing but grief for one’s soul.
You eat it up so relentlessly,
With so little care in your own Heart,
That it makes me wonder if you really do want to bring people together or really just
drive them apart.
I began to accept you.
My weakness prevented me otherwise.
You take advantage of this, don’t you?
You aim to find people who lack strength and further decrease their worth.
You made me believe that there is more to someone than just their existence.
What you failed
And continue to fail
To show me
Is just how much it hurts to be betrayed by you.
And just how much one gets addicted to the pain.
About the Creator
Mihaela Vasileva
I write based on heart. I love based on thought. I think based on truth.
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More stories from Mihaela Vasileva and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor5 days ago in Fiction
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