A web of insecurity
weaves a wave of sins,
sins of my heart,
for which I’d paid
in tears with blood
toiling through a field
of broken dreams.
Its toll weighs
the bricks of anxious
footprints on empty streets
of a new fling.
The lies promised
returned to the face of a goddess
wrapped in a crown of thrones around the illusion
of a faulty conclusion of her lips of robbery,
dangling from an oak tree
of regret, kicking my feet for solid
ground, wishing she’d cut me loose
before it’s too late to run.
I’m less than a memory;
it’s best you forget about me.
(© 2022 AC)
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