He was a child when he figured out his life plan.
Maybe he know his future occupation would consist of broken
Her smooth face as the rain poured down, but not as harsh as the pain in her heart.
It wasn’t just her, but she didn’t know that her worth was measured by tally marks in the mind of someone who cared half as much but for twice the amount of women.
He knew his plan through the sick sense of wellbeing that plastered across his life in the form of a fake smile.
Unaccustomed to coping he hugged her
Goodbye in the dark death-like way in which she didn’t know that’d be her last smile.
But not his.
His happiness took form many years later by lies which soothed his own fragmented mind by a broken family instead of a broken heart.
Some may say he built walls, but he wasn’t that clever.
Walls were sturdy, and can withstand the wind,
But even the slightest whistle couldn’t keep his stance standing.
He fell, but his bruises were only visible on other people.
“A work of art” he called it.
But I won’t give him credit for making my life fall apart.
He only brushed the surface and callused my trust while his broke further. He received the love he didn’t deserve,
So I took it back,
Along with my well-being.
I am not a victim.
I won’t give him the credit of breaking my heart because I let it happen.
I grew up when he slapped the innocence out of me, but
The poor kid,
He stayed a child,