To say otherwise is to lie.

by blossom666

I loved you.

To say otherwise would be a lie,

a god damn fucking lie.

Your very essence filled my veins,

you were the flame behind my eyes,

the fear in my beating heart

the sweat that pooled in my palms.

I loved you.

To say otherwise would be a lie,

a god damn fucking lie.

I had to love you.

I had to surrender to the hunger in my heart.

I had a weakness for the flavour of love.

Battered bruised and torn apart

An instinctual need to taste the crimson flow of blood,

the faint pulsating beat still fresh,

quenching my thirst for another day

I loved you.

To say otherwise would be a lie,

a god damn fucking lie.

Hazy memories coupled with perfect moments

that I keep locked in a jar, pickled

with the remnants of a lambs heart

evidence that I loved you,

each of you.

Yes. I loved each of you and to say

otherwise would be the lie.

A love so perfect, untainted by hate

a moments recognition between two souls,

darkness that seeped into our finger tips

passion that filled our kisses,

I loved you.

To say otherwise would be a lie.

I love you, I still love you, I will always love you

and is this so wrong? Is it so wrong to love, to be in love?

An indefinable term that is constantly squashed

into a patriarchal society, glossed over with

feminine charms. It didn’t last and so by definition

of society it was never love.

Society does not rule my soul.

Escaped musings from the thought tank

veiled in black lace and draped in pure white silk.

A plotted timeline of maturational evolution.

You were the blood soaked sheets

and I was the falling tears of a shredded heart.

I loved you, this was never a lie.

The vibrational beat of passion that tingled beneath

my pallid face, drawn out eyes that stared into

the abyss of darkness and begged on bloodied

knees.

I loved you.

Love is no fairytale, no white knights, no glass slippers,

no virgin dick with an instinctual knowledge

of the female soul.

Love is real and cannot be contained

inside a box of simplistic purity.

It is a force to be to adored, devoured

en-captured. The fluidity of lust.

Oh what a joy it is to drink in that fluid

of passion, to feel it energise the soul

as it becomes you, threatens to drown you.

As its fires burn in carnal lucidity.

I loved you.

To say otherwise would be a lie,

a god damn lie.

Karen Hayward ©2016

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