The Ruined

*Musical Selection The Internet’s Under Control on repeat*

he hadn’t chanced

a love like ours,
banking on small notes,
meaning nothing.


even in the swirl

of anger, I could
feel his beasting breath —
charging at me from hours away.


we were legends in

a past life, revolving doors
in shameless towers, now
we glide on eggshells, ruined
in sacred noon.


“Promise me one thing.”

“Yes?”
“Promise me that you won’t fall in love.”
“I can’t.”


“Why?”
“I already have.”


Photo Credit: Pinterest