Echoes of her voice lie imprinted, in the chaos of creases where your body once lay entwined with hers. a rhythmical gnashing biting large unseemly wounds into my 400 thread count heart. The same heart you lie to in the voice that calls me secretly by her name, a whispered croon like splintered glass. Her eyes matched the cornelian blue trim that my hands had sewn with painstaking stitches to the crisp white sheets, a wedding present, from your brother. My hands tremble now as I trace the Judas shadow across the blank expanse of fabric taunting me with the countless hours of treachery they were silent witness to if walls can talk, then what of beds? A bedtime story with no happy ever after. Her scent still lingers integrating with my own sandalwood and neroli jasmine and passion flowers a bouquet of your deceit I have flung those sheets- the canvas of your betrayal- into a crumpled heap on the bare wood floors. I have stomped and kicked and still I scoop them up remaking my bed with your stains sleeping with demons and dogs. I am bound to this torment my pillow an anchor to my pain awake or dreaming I still see your bare back, the scars from my nails glowing neon pink between the strands of her long black hair that trails over your shoulder and I hate I hate this embittered bile I vomit in black tirades this diseased patchwork heart I struggle to hold on to. Tomorrow, I’m buying new sheets.Birth sign: Scorpio
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