It wasn’t the touch of his fingertips
Nor the wet kisses or his breath on my skin.
His heartbeat was a beautiful melody
But not as sweet as the sound of
His words shooting arrows to my heart
Aiming for the wounds you left.
Tearing them open, I bleed
The poison out. It escapes me,
Ridding me of you.
I feel cleansed.
I lay down the ivory sheets
Bury you six feet under.
I am reborn, again,
With an empty heart
That has room only for one.
Neither his nor yours is enough
To fill it and make it spill.
I will hold the brush
Paint the canvas with the colour of
Of Hope and dreams and promises
To myself that I’ll keep.
I might have died a thousand times
But now it’s time to
About the Painting – “Angel Flight” by Leonid Afremov