he was pure destruction (a poem)

Tuesday, February 02

By Cerys McAdam

she ignored his baleful gaze, blinded by a love that didn't exist.

she was captivated with the way that his eyes lit up when she smiled at him and how he held her safer than she had ever felt before, how he hummed her to sleep with a "hey there delilah" on his lips.

so maybe the love did exist for a time, but eventually his heart stopped beating for her and it started beating out for her blood, her destruction.

his heart pleaded for my blood on his hands, and mine pleaded simply for his hands (to hold and keep warm).

he was a library, i think, for lack of a better metaphor to describe the man responsible for the shatter. He had too many hidden books with ripped pages and red ink.

I didnt find these books or pages for a couple of years, but when I did it was too late for me.

he tore me apart cell by cell, refusing to let me leave with the beating heart I came with (nor the unscarred arms and thighs).

he was my everything,

until he wasn't. 

he was order and routine,

until he wasn't.

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