Y’all think Cupid’s a saint
But I know the truth.
Cupid’s cursed.
Convince me otherwise.
He’s broken my heart
One too many times
Shot his little daggers
In my chest
Left it hollow.
Love’s his promise
But it’s just a commercialized farce
Of chocolate dipped strawberries
And scattered rose petals.
He’s got y’all fooled.
He had me too
In his little satchel
Where he kept my soul
In the dark, warm place
I thought I wanted to be.
He filled my mind
With the nonsense y’all spout
Of love and comfort and kisses
That fill you up so your heart sings
So when Cupid comes around tomorrow
I’ll hide
While y’all pick up your Valentines.
Don’t cry when your heart’s broken.
Cuz I told you so.
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall7 days ago in Fiction
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