The end growled,
So I put on some body armour,
A flimsy stab vest,
To protect me from the bite of her exit,
And indeed did a knife come,
Sharp as a sour tongue,
And heated red in a lovers forge,
An anvil rendered mute thereafter,
There was no malice in the blades drive,
Nor the hand behind it,
Just a soul scorned,
My vest prevented a terminal break,
But the strike bruised all the same,
Freezing a heart in its cell,
Forever more.

  1. Words do cut like double edged swords at times. Well crafted imagery, my friend. Cheers.

  2. Cassa Bassa says:

    Love hurts, words kill.

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