Cursed

No sappy lines of romantic dialogue
would dare harass this page,
after you stole the woman that I love
from me, and filled her heart with darkness.
There was a time a while ago
when much gushing would occur,
and fires of passionate brimstone
would collapse atop of me,
whenever I said her name.
A single wisp of thought would dance across my face,
hypnotizing my love shaped irises,
and in an instant I would turn away
before she noticed my intrigue,
believing myself to be undeserving of her heart’s patronage.
My, do I regret these lost occasions.
Where once she was a light, blossoming
in the everglades of occurrence,
now she unites with despairing solace-less
to convey to me the new rational
she has obtained.
Since youth, she had matured
into a gorgeous flower,
but now her petals, fatigued
and withering, cast a shadow greater
than that of unending grief.
Yesteryear, she glided across my heart
like silk, but now the fabric of her design,
deteriorating and disillusioned,
is not as I remember.
Change is a rapid onset occurrence
to which all must eventually adapt,
but this here unnatural phenomenon,
this persecution of a once outstanding dame,
has been helmed by the entirety of your faults.
Why must you have hexed this soul
I once freely desired, conspiring
to break two hearts, in one single moment?
These ramifications will reverberate
long after this poem has been read,
and never shall it be forgotten
what you once did,
the cursed onslaught of depression.

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