_Fond

temporary, speedy
like a bullet was she through my chest, I grew attached to,
as she wormed her way out the exit wound

I know I say it often, but it was one of the several,
deaths I've dove.

painful, my heart is tender,
raw yet ever honest like a lover,


and if I did not feel pain,


oh what then, could I feel?



paying for my great crime against a broken one,
that I had smashed apart to find a place for her to fit inside,

crumbling like a glass vase in slow-mo, so I devoted myself,
to be a servant,

but the more she forgives me the more guilty I feel,

for the more she forgives me the more I'm reminded,

that,


I,


committed,


a,


crime,

against my love, and against my truth and fondness,
out of spite and excuses yet, I betrayed her
and thus twisting the knife laid by another, even further
a shot in the foot of my fervor, my passion laid to drown in a puddle

and it kills me now to see her with another
knowing,

her greatness could have been mine at some time,



were I not,


so foolish.