the curve of my daisy

grasping my neck with your invisible hold,
you walk away – forcing me to watch it unfold,
paralyzed – while your teeth begin to dig deeper,
sinking into the ground as I call you my reaper.
The degradation of one’s heart,
leads me to writing poetry in the dark,
wishing for the end – as I fall to the floor,
discovering death is not serene – its a rapping at the door.
Monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams,
love and passion are nothing but short-lived extremes,
our moment in the sun came at a devastating cost,
realizing the brutality of a love now and forever lost

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