Love & Relationships


Posted By

On Jun 10, 2020

By Carlo Kui.

Before I tell you about physical scars on my body,

Let me tell you about the one who slashed me with words,

The one who took each and every vulnerability for ammunition,

The one whose insecurities became our lives,

The guarded one,


Hers was a story of broken china splattered all over the kitchen floor,

From a fight we had last night,

The soundtrack to our hectic exchange was that of breaking utensils against the wall,

Love became a rough tiresome terrain,


We conjured physical restrain,

But the words left me lying in a pool of my own blood,

Chocked on the truthfulness,

And spat-upon loyalty,


Regret filled my millennial mind,

Yet I wrote her love songs,

And praised her endlessly,


She was a constantly cocked gun,

Her beautiful lips were the assault weapon,

It always felt like she brought a machine gun to a knife fight,


Worse still,

There was never room for angry sex with her,

So there she is, sleeping soundly with light snores,

And I lay awake tortured by afterthoughts, rage and arousal,

Questioning my existence, questioning our love and harboring resentment,


Each time, her words smashed into me,

Leaving me naked, ugly and on my knees,


As I broke, I became less and less attractive to her,

And she had eyes for everyone else,


We exorcised the demons,

Held sacred rituals with incense and sacrifice to the gods,

In honor of my former glory,


Rejuvenated and renewed energy had her coming back in like a child who smelled freshly baked bread,

And I let her.

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