Her version of love was a depiction of a mushy romance novel…
Except in their story, her heart crystallized, like jasper.
It had shattered inside of her, and it became broken from trauma.
Her love was wasted because she was not a hostess to his scandalous ways.
She moved to lyrics inside her head, allowing them to steal her soul and embody her narrative.
In her tale, she could fly above the clouds up high…instead of seeing her blood drip to the ground
A bleeding heart…ligaments holding it twisted and torn
Burning about as if it had been thrown in a firepit of his creation
Her heart thrashed in her chest as her car hit the pole.
She wouldn’t be his problem anymore.
© E.M. Kingston 2021 – All Rights Reserved.
This was written using Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #270.
The Ramblings of E.M. Kingston 
how fragile we are. sting
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Very true 🌷
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it is for sure em.
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Oh wow. Was not expecting that!
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My dark side came out a bit, as it usually does with love.
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Mine comes out sometimes too.
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Devasting and visceral both the emotion and the imagery.
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Thank you, Mindlovemisery! I am so thankful for your comment. Thanks for the follow as well *(smiles)*
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