You over there, observing us in despair.
I’ve listened to your cries; each wailing word that slithered out of a poisonous jar.
That tune, so disgusting and manipulative, once was a melody to many, not just me.
We hold each other’s love like a child’s innocence; you took ours, now we are rendered empty.
And I dare you not look at us with a lens of green, that’s not fair at all.
You say we both held your heart, I proudly state that you never held mine.
Rip our roots from its core and you’ll unleash a devastating darkness.
Not our darkness, yours.
Rip our roots from its core and you’ll delve into the mystery that is your own fatal flaw; greed, loneliness, the desire for something more.
Begging is weak. Look at you now.
The tale never stops, it’s always told. In my days and in my dreams; there’s no escape from the horror that is you.
The tale never stops; for the longest time, saddened truth that only your ‘part’ was played, only your part was believed.
Time has tumbled like stacked dominoes, it’s his time now. His time to grab back at all the things you stole, get his justice like you had yours.
Happiness tips out a river that will,
I want to take those pictures that are hidden in your crater and burn them to dust; there’s things you deserve but happy memories of us is not one of them.
The sea so precious, so beautiful, so innocent and vulnerable can not be treasured let alone protected by your plastic hands.
Therefore you are delusional. It was not stolen but taken away out of fear of further pollution.
Now the sea is cerulean, clearer than before; sea life swims joyous, delighted that’s for sure.
Keep your thoughts untwisted, I’ll help you untangle the spiked vines.
Because what was yours, you broke, made someone new who I love and is now mine.
What was yours, was me, but never with a label.
Misery a life with you; present day, I’m away, still shattered but that light bulb of mine glistens me to glue, and finally I’m fine.
About a girl I once knew who defined toxicity.
I, at the time, had yet to realise that she would become important to me not because of what she has done: for the person I invented her to be in my mind. She, a version of me that I despise because I am not it. But this version is not the real her, the poem reflects her true self.