her name, her existence- a thorn in my side;
a sting, a puncture, knowing she captured the sought after prize.
though a thorn is easily removed and leaves only a slight wound,
i have become an empty vessel, void of a beating heart, bidding for its return soon.
unrelenting, unforgiving, i want to bend back her fingers one by one
as her tight grasp still consumes.
in any other circumstance, we might have been friends
but in this life we’re on opposite ends.
Coffee Shop Sessions 