Her love was a dagger, a thorn,
Burned like sun-fire, heat on my skin
But like fire it flamed-out,
Too hot too fast, and ashen, we fell apart.

Love it seemed, ran hot and cold,
And icy stares from her, straight razor edged,
Her former empassioned eyes now loom;
Again sharp pain within my soul.

Twisting in my side, writhing still,
The knotted knurls of my heart beat, strangled,
Beating for it to end, to melt away,
Mind replaying the starkly technicolour chaos.

I'll never forget her, that's no lie,
Never live it down, but I remember:
The good times are what get me by, what hides,
Grounds me to my reasons, my life.

© Tom Stanley