The Truth About Love
He was the blade that cut deep into my flesh
And the blood that ran cold from my veins,
Dripping from my fingertips.
He was the puff of smoke blown in my face
Out of a friend’s mouth
And the hot ember that burnt my lungs.
He was the venom that stung my skin
And the spider making webs
In every corner of my room.
He was the incurable disease
That no doctor could detect
And the drug I took to forget
That I was dying because of him.
Copyright © Maerose Wilson | Year Posted 2017
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