Tiny blue wildflowers dot the path.
He tramples them.
Rose-gold sunrise burns the eastern sky.
He closes the blinds.
Someone reaches out with kindness.
He smirks and turns his back.
He calls himself generous.
He calls himself an empath.
He calls himself a victim.
Many are fooled by his boyish charm,
but his deceptive ease and humor
mask a monster of the worst degree:
He is not your lover.
He is not your friend.
He is the enemy of joy.
He is the sudden darkness,
and his is the hand
that snuffs out the candle’s flame.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay
No comments:
Post a Comment