Self love

What do you do when your love fades?

When there’s a greasy film over thing and everyone?

The mirror’s face is not my own. How long have I had the scars? These creases creaking around my lids?

My mouth is empty and without my teeth, my tongues lolls out.

Truth streams forth.

Flecks of saliva permeate the atmosphere. All greasy with truth unwanted.

I loved myself in my youth.

Not because it was simple but because I was too polite to cause a scene.

I was all peppermint and rose quartz.

Now the truth is a darling friend that you can’t wait to evict after 2 am.

Now I am obsidian. Only able to cut you with the truth.

No one really wants the truth .

Just greasy and heavy and lonely.

Self love fades and is replaced by a withered face, savage tongue.

Truth has now replaced love.

Love is silly anyway, replaced by the sticky truth that clings to air. Humid, sticky air.

When self love fades, you won’t notice til you speak and smell the acrid, greasiness of truth stings your eyes.

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Disney Villain

Who am I to believe in true love when I’ve never seen an example of it in true life?

When had a fairytale romance played before me so that I may lust after a similar reprise in my favor?

Short answer: never.

I am alone and this is my fairytale.

One where I am the villain destined to be alone.



Petals fall.

Dried they fall rather quickly.

Stomped beneath the feet of passersby.

None of who knew that they were once a symbol for love.

Dried husks of affection.

Nothing more than aged vegetation scattered down dirty streets.

Even nesting birds ignore the rubbish.

But I swear, I was once adored.

My petals fragrant, jewel-toned and the texture of velvet on skin.

Not a memory anymore.

Now a nuisance the wind blew up into your face.