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It started as a thin discoloured line a blemish in the beautiful flawless paint. I asked you to fix it. You didn’t.
The colour spread – a bit more each week. Hard to notice at first but it was persistent. I asked you to fix it. You didn’t.
The warm weather came and finally you sanded down the stain you painted over the blemish. It didn’t take, and before long the stain returned. I asked you to fix it. You didn’t.
Finally one day you primed the spot and my heart sang. Believing it could be beautiful again. But then it sat sad and neglected exposed to salt and harsh elements.
Where once there was a stain there is now an ugly hole…
It started with neglect an unpaid bill an unfinished chore a forgotten promise. I asked you to fix it. You didn’t
I stuck my head in the sand for a while and the problem grew. A website women prettier than me. I asked you to fix it. You didn’t.
You agreed to talk and I was cautiously hopeful. I asked you to fix it. You said we would try. You didn’t.
You left me one day scared and alone perhaps a misunderstanding.
And then one day the unthinkable another in my bed while you filled my head with lies. You asked me to fix it. I didn’t.
You were the salt that spread the stain and wore a hole in me. You asked me to fix it I couldn’t.
I can’t tell you the moment I was attracted to you. Or why it happened when I knew it was wrong.
I can’t pinpoint when it was, but I can tell you it struck like lightening. We clicked in a way I hadn’t expected.
It swept over me like wild fire. Was it the same for you? I often wonder…
You called me babe and convinced me I was sexy. I was worthy after he’d brought me low.
Then things shifted… and then it died.
What had begun innocently enough was now an addition. An intimate cry for attention.
A text, a complementary, a smile. It didn’t mean anything, and yet it meant everything.
The thrill, heart pounding sending blood pounding causing skin to flush.
He’s a temptation his kiss like a rush of cocaine through her body, and like a junkie she craves his touch.
His mouth on her lip. His hands on her skin. She is empty without him. He is an itch she can’t scratch.
He burrows into her and she wallows in him. He is the one thing she can’t cut out of her no matter how hard she tries.
He is poison, a deep stain spreading across her skin yet she still swallows him down she loves the taste of sin.
It starts as many things do, a compliment. Just a kind word that makes you glow a little brighter.
It’s innocent but it doesn’t stay that way. Late nights become later and text become naughtier and before you know it just the thought of a message from you steals my breath.
We go for it. I can’t remember who’s idea it is but as my back hits the cool sheets I’m all in.
I have no regrets about that day I know why I did what I did, but I have so many other regrets. The radio silence you’ve enforced. The one word responses as if I were a stranger.
I wish I could rewind time and go back to a coy flirtation, I wish you would see me as I believe you once did instead of something you’d prefer to scrape from your shoe.
I want to tell you it was only a bit of fun and not to be too serious, but I can’t because that would break the code of silence but it was only a bit of fun, Sir.
You stole my heart with your adorable face and sweet disposition. You’ve barely been gone 24 hours but the hole you left in my heart is jagged, its edges too harsh to the touch. Though I know we saved you great suffering it doesn’t make your being gone any easier.
She’s not the woman she was a year ago. The world crumbled beneath her and she’s done what she needed to survive. Where she is now dull and hollow she was once vibrant and full of life. You stole that away like a thief in the dark.
Now she looks for ways to feel anything outside of numb, but she is lost.
She tries to convince herself she’s bent not broken but she knows the truth inside.
Adrift she floats from one experience to another knowing that each is more destructive than the last, but at least here in the sandbox she can feel the grit between her toes.
She builds castles each day knowing that the tide will sweep them away. They aren’t real and neither is what she feels, It’s easier than real emotion though and she’s still hollow inside so when they call her a toy she pretends not to care.
She guards her heart but spreads her thighs desperate to prove that she isn’t the naive girl you made her while you fucked whores in her bed in between whispered words of devotion.
It’s all fake love but she soaks it in because if it weren’t for that she’d get nothing at all.