Wicked Glass

Image courtesy of Shreekant Plappally

I fell in love with a villain,

draped in white clothing

and adorned with medals.

I fell for the knight,

the one who endured much

just to save me from hell.

I didn’t know, though,

he was made of glass;

fragile and entirely false.

I thanked the heavens for him;

jumped into his arms

without any hesitation.

I watched as he tended to me,

promising to heal wounds

and make me whole again.

I let him dress me in promises

and decorate me with kindness.

I followed his every move,

trusting him to guide me

through hallways I’d been lost in.

I clung to him as he did me,

sharing a secret kind of love

others only dreamed of having.

I gave him the keys to the castle,

let him roam the rooms inside,

and told him to make a home there.

I waited for him to settle in

and start building a life together,

like we had always talked about.

But the glass image he held fell

and shattered all around me,

cutting me up and drawing blood.

I watched as my hero walked away,

taking the arm of another damsel

as he exited the wooden doors.

I fell in love with the blue-eyed villain

who was adorned in wicked glass,

and drove a dagger into my chest.

And though I keep the doors locked,

refusing to let another in now,

I think I still love my false knight.

How incredibly sad is that?

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