Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Revenge Tastes Bitter

I had a a reputation,
for being a wreck on my bathroom floor,
falling apart,
failing to see the lies that were lying in wait,
stuck on a carousel of betrayal,
and sea sick from never having the nerve to throw myself overboard,
to embrace the freedom of the open, honest ocean,
so I decided to reinvent myself.
I was going to be a heartbreaker,
crushing the self esteem of everyone I saw underneath my Primark pumps,
because I was still pleased with my reflection,
just pissed at all the tears my skin had tasted.
Woman scorned,
but still sentient enough to seduce and slice the spirits of naive souls.
I wanted revenge.
Lead them on,
then walk away,
leaving a sauntering, sour memory that will stay for so many long, lonely nights.
Yeah, that’s the way.
I’m a good student,
studying under many soulless, heartless, harmful bastards,
but the tears,
they reminded me of my own.
When I saw my playthings become waterfalls,
my conscience rang out like a bell,
and I was back to the bathroom floor,
living up to reputation I had more than earned.

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