Matchstick Girls

I’ve traipsed my way
through someone’s love again.
Completely thoughtless
to the consequences
and it’s only fitting that the axe
falls heavy on my head.

Because I’m to blame
for burning through good girls
like matches I can’t’ light

All He wanted
was the ring in his pocket
to glitter round her finger
and Her, his home and hearth
for the rest of their days.

And I the dower downpour,
snuffed her like
so many brief indulgences.
Now she’s his soggy tinder,
and I can’t even remember
what it was like to feel her
aglow in my cheeks
and the chill is setting in.

So I’ll stomp my feet and
cup my empty hands
in the shivering cold
on the outside looking in.
And I know.  

I’ll be the kindling in someone else’s pyre soon enough.

Bump it with:

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

She was always ready with the needle and thread for when I  got caught on that same barb-wired fence.  The same roadblock that I absolutely needed to mount, but instead of triumphing– it ripped my insides out.  And she took the time with gentle hands to undo my vestigial heart from the steel wired teeth.  Gently easing my bleeding, pulsing organs back inside of me.  And with measured loving strokes she tenderly resewed all the damage I had done.  She wrapped me in her arms and laid with me on the couch.

Once I was better– I left her.  In search of that roadblock again.  Until the next time when she found me tattered and dripping, impaled by my own pride and ignorance.  With the same patience and love, she pulled me from the steel brambles and carried me to her bed.  Stitch by stitch.  Inch by inch.  She held my hand and’ nursed me back to health.  

Once I was better– I left her.  To climb the wall I could not climb.  To fall the fall I was destined.  When next she found me she looked at me sadly.  “I’ve sold my needles.  I’ve packed up my thread.”   But she sat with me and cradled my head. “This time, you face your monsters alone.”

And she was gone.