A Memoir of Naiveté

The look on her face devastates me.

Sadness, remorse, naiveté.

Oh, the visible pain in one look of her chestnut eyes.

A reoccurring course of events.

Extended yells, objects thrown, trails of tears falling.

Pleading, “he was my first love, naiveté.”

Blastoff, a flood of happiness, ending someone unknown.

With a soft, despondent tone, she revokes the past experiences.

Theatrically portraying endured events.

Rushing through the darkness, yearning for a way out.

Questioning her former self, outright naiveté.

She sighs, “I was dancing with the devil in disguise.”


An Awful Sadness

She had an awful sadness about her.

With eyes that had seen a thousand wars,

And a heart that couldn’t put up another fight.


It’s no wonder that her heart turned to stone.

She had given so many pieces of herself to others,

She was left with none to call her own.

A Bittersweet Farewell

We sat there with each other,

But it was different from before.

Something in his eyes had changed,

He stared down at the floor.

A flood of tears came through me,

It felt like the end of a war.

With nothing left to give,

Nothing left in store;

I knew that it was over,

He didn’t love me anymore.