aching for the days when the memories were light,

but the hours she is spending

share no glimpse of being bright.

Her heart has been torn

one too many times,

for on her sleeve she had it worn;

she should've seen the signs.

The avoided gazes,

the darkening look,

the fake appraises,

her pure lips he took.

Instead he just stood there,

no apology in his eye.

Upon his mouth a snare

made her want to die.

Now she walks on

the legs that lead her,

as if she's a pawn,

in this tragic blur;

this devastating game 

of love.