I was day,
until you painted me a night.
I was wrong,
but you told me I was right.
I took flight,
but you taught me how to fight.
Soon,
I was wrapped
around your finger,
really tight.
But you got bored really fast.
Guess I was no longer
interesting,
guess I was just
another short fling,
who took her turn
to wear the ring.
But did I let go?
No.
Instead, I continued to sink,
still
so desperate
so desperate
so desperate
even though you were
so icy
so icy
so icy.
Then you found her.
Curvy body, red lips, rich father.
She was the perfect package.
You were head over heels,
brimming with lust and feels,
what place did I have anymore?
But every time I tried to leave
there you were again, begging
me to stay, begging me to not
go away,
it hurt to see you like that.
So I stayed,
but I left my bags at the front door,
you know, just in case.
YOU ARE READING
Kalopsia: Words Are Dangerous
PoetryWords are like lethal poison- it's either you swallow it, or you use it on others.
