TOUGHTEST PART
Every man is a warrior, glories, victories, scars are trophies but the greatest scars are not made from from flesh wounds, but on the heart. It kill faster than COVID-19. So if you noticed I am tougher, this could possibly be the reason.
Once in the people's paradise I met a goddess,one whose beauty draws even the sons of God to sin. She is one for which angel to men do shape, a sought for which weaklings wore cape. Her eyes are filled with unsaid stories, her cheeks has a pair of beauty divine. Her feet's are tender like those of doves, she is the fire that burns men, the zeal for which they peer. Like a spirited horse charging into battle, one and all they ran. None cared if love is the Lion's lair, if this is the wolves woods, headlong into the fire of lust they ran.
Her lips birth the sweetest sounds I've ever heard; "I choose you because I see potentials in you and because I love you". She is a slay queen and I became her boo, she's a sweet scenting deodorant and I plead she should let us roll on. I knew ten men for her lips would kill, for a touch of such raw gold, they'll fight at will. For her , weaklings became men of steel. Saints still sin, men with sight still stumble and strike a foot and I in my foolish wisdom, misread the body language of this goddess. Now like a chronicle the silent stories she unfolds, like an mallam after prayers her love mat she folds. Her lamp of love she took, leaving me in dense darkness.
I have walked this path before, never knew I would return soon. The only way to play with fire and not get burnt is to pick a pen and write fire. I just realized that love is the chameleon's skin, what you see is not what it is. No matter how bright my smile now seem, somewhere silent within I am dim. The only way I could forget something that once gave me so much happiness is not remember. But how can I forget to remember that I would be remembered as "someone wicked, who ruined a life". I know this lonely tear would cease, my eyes that were sad like a bad weather will be bright like summer skies.
Comfort I sip like chilled whisky, knowing she's warm in another's arm. The wet bleeding wound in my heart soon heals but not the scars. For it was my own companion, who was eating my own meal that has lifted his heel against me, and that is the toughest part.
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