It is a part of human nature to blame the other for betrayal, cheating, overpricing. The claim might be just, yet haven’t we let ourselves be fooled? Sometimes we choose to ignore the signs and continue to play the lie.
“Like summer fruit on a golden platter.”He wove the bed of crimson roses.
romantic and somewhat pedantic
the way it’s placed between two poles,
above the drop of thousand feet.
Oh, his words,
the way he spoke,
like summer fruit on a golden platter
dipped in honey from a fat bee.
She still remembers the sweetness of his fruit,
on that weekend afternoon.
The scent of wild roses from his bed,
haunt her still,
during walks in the moonless garden,
that’s underneath the soulless market.
Now all she smells is fear and burning,
and all she tastes is bitter mourning.
Like metal chain around her neck,
heavy banner of the shame,
pulling closer to the ground,
reminding of the lies she ate.
He burned her city to the ground,
let its enemies within the walls.
Now guilt is burning in her chest,
it’s the poison from the thorns of roses,
an ugly worm inside betrayal fruit.
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