You became my everything…is that not what nourishes the depleted soul in our unenviable state of humanity? I was starving for you. Once injected into my psyche, and the addict was born; each dose brought me close…to being spun on a spool…endless tangles, where words duel; such hope each strand holds of conjoining, being so much more than a solo strand..
Your eyes, the reflections of a brilliant Earth, those lovely mirrors, caves for tears, you claimed damage to the dam, damn me it was my fault, the shutters leaked, a time or two with my doings, with my words – I cherish as friends, I betrayed them into congregating as an army, in lines across a page, we marched into your mind, army of unkind.
My words, I used them for ego and pride, they helped to bring birth to that which has died.
When the writer removes her sword from sheath, to sickle all beneath, unto paper, made confetti of two lives. If words were sutures, I would sew the scar closed, my love. I would seal it with a kiss. I would weave us together, and never fray, under the guise of my words, forever this day.
Confetti of Two Lives
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