Thief

I still love you … I do

Even though this isn’t marriage I feel bound to you “until death do us apart”

You’re dead. To me, therefore I’m widowed: a black one… at that

Now you call me a spider

                Are you saying I’m spiteful, mischievous, dark, and mysterious with a big X on my back

… funny, doesn’t X “mark the spot”?

Doesn’t that mean that I am your treasure… everything you ever wanted? No?

Disappointment cuts deep like a broken off nail to the soul: sharp and jagged, yet acrylic and fake

So is this even real? Or was our love a freshly manicured left … hand

Still, I would like to know if you have stolen my soul