Saturday, December 15, 2012

Ugly ducklings and Red-headed Step-children



I really don’t write about love

It hurts you know


You don’t use ink

You open a vein upon a small canvas


Shedding essence of life

Bleeding current or past

Contorted, awkward phases



What was said

Was not meant



What was done in an instant

Meant more than an a thousand infinite lifetimes


A lie about love received in ones ear

Deafens said ear to the truth


A lie about love spoken

Shapes ones mouth well to hold a particular poison


The most malicious of all

The memories you and love bring into being


They never die

They age and can grow stronger

Testing your will to overcome

Taxing your determination as to


Allow them to turn into emotional scars

For someone else to step parent


You see


I really don’t  write about love


©Christopher f. Brown 2012



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