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.