October 20, 2016; 1:04am

This poem was written for a guy who at one time, I thought I was in love with.
He was dark and ominous, stuck in a perpetual state of sadness and despair, but I saw hope.  I thought I could fix him; I thought I could be the raft that saved him from drowning in his dark thoughts.  At sixteen years old, I had yet to realize that you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped.

to: my almost first love

a tender heart, a pure soul
an innocent boyish smile

turned

by the sly eyes
of Jealousy
by the sweet whisper
of Deceit
by the burning furnace
of Hatred
by the shadowed scythe
of Death.

what once was lovely,
what once was good
lost it’s path through
the crooked wood.

(t.h.)

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