Beauty is tragic

Love can be acidic

And I am a statistic;

A name lost in numbers

A story lost in the vastness

Of similarly tragically acidic tales.

I am a life defined by a single day;

A wave shut down by a simple splash.

I am a memory locked in the corners of the society

Remembered to be pitied not revived.

I am the wreckage of his one sided love;

The losing party in this unholy war

I bare the face of revenge.

It’s ugly, figureless, unsmooth and wretched.

But worse are the once I bear inside my flesh.

The scars on my mind and soul.

“Why” I have asked and asked

As I stare into blind eyes in the mirror

And my hand moves up in its own accord

To travel and unfold a sorry tale

As it touches what remains after his love kissed my face.

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