The Art of Stealing Hearts-
A curse of the purest kind.
I mistook myself for the divine.
Now I lay on the corpses of who my suitors once were,
as part of the history as every single one of them.
I lay still atop,
with a knife slit through my chest,
and a drop of regret in my eyes.
Little had I realised,
whilst I slaughtered your love like
every single one of theirs,
that your heart had mine in it.
And I carved it out with a lonesome bloodied knife,
And now I lay here still,
still.
The curse was probably never about stealing hearts,
It was maybe about letting mine be stolen with yours.
Every. Single. Time.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
The Art of Stealing Hearts-
A curse of the purest kind.
I mistook myself for the divine.
Now I lay on the corpses of who my suitors once were,
as part of the history as every single one of them.
I lay still atop,
with a knife slit through my chest,
and a drop of regret in my eyes.
Little had I realised,
whilst I slaughtered your love like
every single one of theirs,
that your heart had mine in it.
And I carved it out with a lonesome bloodied knife,
And now I lay here still,
still.
The curse was probably never about stealing hearts,
It was maybe about letting mine be stolen with yours.
Every. Single. Time.
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