Of the dozens of times I turned my back on you,
Eleven times became too many,
the blades are stuck in for you to twist in pain,
as I wonder what is it you had left to gain?
my Soul's been cut and I have since bled plenty,
my Spirit still holds me up no matter what you do.
As the new days dew drips off me like blood,
I turned my face again to ask you why?
I float perpetually in this misty room,
that holds all my sadness and gloom,
anger and time will always slowly fly by,
old hurtful emotions still come and strike with a thud.
Each wound holds a dreary story of its own,
filled with pain and agonizing memories,
our youthful Love that was killed before its time,
losing your mind while committing this crime,
Hateful Anger, Fear, Jealousy and all other Miseries,
were harshly thrust in with each wound thrown.
There maybe no Forgiveness known,
for the emotional detachment you have shown,
but the Love I hid deep inside has finally died,
an end to our futile cantankerous ride,
and my compassion for you has finally blown,
It will be my haunting image you will forever see and bemoan.
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Author Notes
Eleven Swords Too Many
By;
4/04/2019
Stabbed in the Back
A Pix This Poem Challenge
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