Tousled hair why do you find each tendril dripping down with unkept beauty? You are like a belladonna in a Titian painting yet your beauty emits a troubled voice. For I know why your voice is muffled. A tease of mirthful gaze now taken on so differently as enemies draw swords.
Where are you my lover, my enemy? Outsider, insider, you call the shots on my heartstrings. You treat me like a violin playing beautifully until a string is broken, then curse as my tune falters.
My cookie-cutter world of turnkey happiness lays trampled at the key to your door. My pain bottled and on display. Metal and dented. Oh my love let us put aside our swords and end this madness.
I was reading a blog today of a young family going through a tough time. She vents. Her world feels torn apart as she deals with the pain of feeling her family is ganging up on her. For something that started oh so innocently it has now come back to bite her. This is for her.
short read, poetry, prose,