My heart races as it is hit with an excruciating pain,
The first resulting consequence of a horrid betrayal,
Burning emotions race within my life’s blood,
Suffocating, gasping for breath with all my emotions entail.
***
Tears leak from my gasping eyes, waterfalls upon my cheeks,
The shock, the horror, the loss of my most sacred trust,
My chest aches tenfold knowing it was so unexpected,
As my anger metamorphosis into heart rendering disgust.
***
My thoughts run rampant with my overwhelming disbelief,
Sure there must be an error in this learned realisation,
Denial is strong, at this stage acceptance is quite frankly unacceptable,
As it’ll kill our relationship by unforgiving cremation.
***
I swallow back my anger, needing first to be certain,
Giving it a chance to discover if it was done in error or by mistake,
By emotions a riot of incredibility and torture,
Until I’m faced with the knowledge that now causes my soul to break.
***
The consequences of this narcissistic action of deliberate betrayal,
Is a death of all the past memories and once loving joy,
That made us into the bloodless family we had become,
All turned to ashes and lies, an obviously devastating ploy.
***
From betrayal comes mistrust in all similarities,
A destructive memory or lesson that sticks within a broken heart,
Walls are built, hearts are safeguarded, inner turmoil replete,
The ending of a relationship now destined to part.
***
Sadness and depression forefront of one’s life,
After a costly lesson learned, the mistaken blast of defeat,
Fear rears it’s ugly head, leaving a hurricane of turmoil,
As armour is now worn in case of a betrayal repeat.
***
Hearts are hardened, emotions bottled tightly within,
Bleeding impossible to staunch as the cruelty reins,
Bodies broken, bashed and emotionally beaten,
Now the bond is broken, only destruction and pain remains.
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****
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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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Comments (1)
Oh my. There is a lot of strong emotion is this, while still being eloquently written. Very well done.