It wasn’t really

love so much as an

obsession.

Light, innocence, and an ever-present smile

lured her in.

She fed off of other peoples’ happiness

because she had none.

And when the storm clouds rolled in, she

was the first to break down.

Pain was her poison.

She destroyed things on purpose, chasing the aching pain

and thriving on anger.

And when she was done, she left a scar.

Poetry

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *