He wanted someone to love,
so he kept her,
even though maybe it was a lie
he kept telling himself
and her over and over until it became
so untrue with no connection
to reality, at all, that everything
around them would just wilt
in their presence. Not that he liked much
about her, but she was good to look at
washing the dishes. She was
quiet, so not much
of a bother. Day in and day
out, she was obedient as
she was told. Started putting on so many
layers and layers of unfinished business,
that sometimes even her clothes would tell
her a poem or two. No one knows
what goes on inside my mind. Grimacing,
she would dust herself off every single
day as good trophies do. Slender and fit
is what men like, but he uninterested
in her flesh and bone, skin on skin, nor her
salty sweat. No, not at all. A passion
flower withering with no one
to watch how beautiful it is.
disdainfulbeauty 