What you thought it was
I said it was not.
It was not a romance, nor a fling.
It had not even been a date.
Certainly not a relationship.
You claimed I had stolen your heart.
No.
Were I to take anyone’s heart,
This is how I would proceed:
I would smile with a hint of a snarl and very cold eyes.
Thus I give you warning. Best to heed it and run.
Ere you stay, I begin slowly.
Using my words as surgical tools
I eviscerate with sharpened terms,
Carving into the skin of your illusions
Until they hang in tatters from your chest.
I pause briefly to provide you
With another opportunity to flee.
When again you do not,
I begin the precise work of delineation,
To show the flawed outlines of this organ I did not take.
Foolish girl, to make such accusation.
Now you will lose it in earnest.
Since you chose this route, I offer no numbing agents
Delivered in honeyed tones.
Clinically I speak of how mistaken you’ve been,
Each description a cut that makes you gasp.
Eventually I lift into the air
The paltry beating thing and with disdain
Drop it into the bin of cliches, shopworn metaphors,
And hackneyed phrases that constitute cheap love.
I don’t even spare you a glance
As I step over your crumpled form on the floor.
Remember, my dear. You asked for this.
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