Poem is based on over hearing an entire conversation in detail, in public.
Dear…your name is not important, not now,
For a brief moment your choices created a void inside my mind that threatened to drag me in and devour me whole.
The lies you wore rolled up and stuffed beneath your heartless sleeve created a vortex of self doubt deep within my heart. The lies you whispered, the fractured fantasies you created. Romanticised in a one sided fantasy, i’d say the dreams you created, but they were an Italian masquerade ball of the past, characters playing an elaborate role flaunting stories pieced together with the guts of a thousand gnats.
Your reflection was a knight in shining armour your mirror an egotistical looped image of self importance, and for every second your heart beat you could not comprehend that I never desired to be saved. I never required you. Never have I met a soul so scared of intimacy, for every step forward you danced back to the beat of an inaudible song that played out across a tannoy in your world of fairytales and waiting wolves. You created an entangled web of manipulation, curious observations filled with empty holes and torn out patches. Your heart a fluttering mess of curdled blood when reality and fantasy played out indifferently and I had the honour of front row seats.
Dear….your name never really mattered, you were always a karmic lesson in truth.
Karen Hayward ©2016 (Words and image)