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I'll remember you as you were.
Innocent; out against the bluest of blue.
Where the sky hangs low,
on the veil of green lands.

I'll think of you.
From time to time.
With a soft thought,
and a gentle smile.

A fond memory,
To get me through
this storm.

However,
I'd cut off my own hand,
before I ever reach for you again.

For you are the thorns
on a red, red rose.
The gleaming needle waiting
to be threaded.
The nefarious laced poison
dipped in candy.

I wouldn't dare reach for you.
Because the pain may fade,
But the scars you left,
Will always be the same.
I rather remember you in fondness,

Than you as a black heartless.

Call it a botched memory.

I'll call it 'trying to get by'.

— The End —