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 voice.

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



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