The Widow
Her sour smile, like unsweetened lemonade,
Made its way to me through the crowd.
I grimaced and groaned, ungrateful of her sickly sweet and fake kindness.
Miles of memories of our time together...
The sunrises and sunsets, like a field of flowers in the fading sky...
She left me alone, like Helen for Paris.
My heart went pitter-patter as we passed in the halls.
I'm afraid of being hurt again.
She is nothing but
a black widow for me.
Copyright © Jessica Schillo | Year Posted 2009
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