Trust

rusty nails

Trust me, he murmurs.
Her ear, a pink shell,
curves to receive his bounty,
the treasury of his words.
Her days frozen, waiting.
Her nights drowned, longing.
Now, his arid arms leave her hollow,
his words base metal.
I don’t love you, she murmurs,
and allows his trust to fall from her hands
like rusty nails.


A sad little poem.
We’ve all been here, haven’t we?

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