It started raining,

as if God heard my prayers and sent some rain

to wash away yesterday’s sorrow.



But even God’s will and strength weren’t enough to erase

this image from my memory.



Every time I close my eyes, that’s all I can see.

Every time I turn the music off, that’s all I can hear.



It’s awaking my demons,

releasing them from the dungeon I spent so much time building,

fortifying.



But they do say you only attract what you are willing to accept,

and God knows how desperate for love she was.



She is my blood,

she is my flesh

but there are words that cannot remain unspoken

and no matter how much I would like her to know best,

she doesn’t.



She thinks she has nothing to loose,

no one to fear for,

but the only person I am afraid for,

is herself.



She experiences the same demons that shorten my nights,

the same voices that ruin my days

and I know for sure that ceding your heart to the wrong person

will do no good,

it only enhances everything, worsening your madness.



I know what it is like to loose yourself in a battlefield,

to love the wrong man.

I know how toxic it can be,

how it alters each one of your cells

forcing them to ask for more and more

turning you into an addict.

Making it barely impossible to go back to being by yourself.



She is the only one the blame

no one’s pushing her into his arms,

his ***** repugnant arms.



Maybe I care too much about words and art,

but he doesn’t seem to master any of those two.

He is just a rough soul who never stops to think and create.

And they are the worse kind of people,

those who never write, paint nor draw.



Because I can assure you that

you will be his art, his first canvas.



And darling, you know how the first drafts

and even the following ones

are never handled with precaution.

They are yelled at,

burnt,

mishandled

thrown away.



Art isn’t supposed to be nice,

it is messy, dark and usually teared into pieces.

So darling, enjoy your time left as a single entity.