The bomb that wasn't supposed to explode

Sun, 02/17/2019 - 22:19 -- smhczy

Dear to your lonely soul, I do hope you read my note. I am truly sorry for my apologies and my guilt. May you forgive my broken thorns and shattered roses. May we finally agree that we're unsatisfied with our shattered glasses at the end of our stained table. Not of marble but of stone; the stone is shattered like a promise I made. Filthy as the lie that came along with those beautiful lips. Beautiful as you were but flawed like your eyes. My misery remains at the end of my sword, it became covered of a dark substance named after my lover. Like the god that killed my truth, I became a remedy after it's passing. My cure came with a sour plain and hurtful taste. May we weep over a death, our mother. May she lay in a field of her memories and her proudest moments. May she remain in a peace like our promises that never were kept as we said.

This poem is about: 
Me

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