I see her these days,
creases of her
once pretty smile
still rusty on her face
Our relationship
the most conventional
the user and the used;
somehow
has been pushed
under floor rugs and
inside shelves.
Her touch,
the most important
ritual of my day;
like it wouldn’t been
completely insane
to worship her
I
no longer
am the Used,
now.
And even
as I say this,
my body
misses her kinda love,
the kind
who knows not to lie.
Now, I remember
how
time never heals
and
love always fades.
BaffletheWaffle 