I have shed the stone cloak you hung on my shoulders with your treatment of me,
and the dusty waste of disappointment lies scattered at my feet,
it blows round the creeping ivy in the wind.
It pushed me down till I was on my knees and crushed,
but you have shown me now that all my breath and energy was wasted.
I will stand against my foolishness, and know that I was right.
Each little memory of us, has been placed in a grave in my mind,
with it’s own little headstone, carefully carved with the name and the date:
A reminder of what was, and what might have been.
The twisting ivy of my life will creep over them, and smother them from view,
but they will always be there, easily found and reminded of,
The Solitary Hill and the Song for Sienna will forever be ours, and I will not hear them now.
You captured me with your poisoned kisses and held me for support,
You told me that you loved me and played with my feelings,
when you were not even sure of your own.
Now you have entered my head, there you will have to remain,
confined to the grave I have given you and to be covered in ivy:
a reminder of what was, and what might have been.
How difficult would it be to reach from your grave and ask for my hand,
and tell me how you felt instead of your wordless message?
I regard you with pity, but wish you future strength.
The fairytale you believed was ours you willingly and quickly destroyed,
and you have returned, to the manipulation and the control.
But you never really left, did you?
I just ask why you are so blinkered when the rest of us believe we see the truth.
27th January 2014