THIRTY THREE

With unfaithful friends;
unfaithful lovers,
who am I but to suffer.
Who am I but to cry,
Who am I but to shiver.
Darkness wins in my inside,
eats my ribs blind,
caged heart as it smells of smoke, fire and heavy smothers of an emptied mind.
who bothers,
no brothers,
I am told to keep my eyes shut on the things I used to scream for ever so behind.
Now I am a mirror of how dark my heart painted my soul,
I cry in red blood, shattered teeth and scattered bones,
mostly empty screams.
No one holds me tight anymore,
so many kisses of betrayal I had to endure,
hope is stupid,
hope is not for me,
I have been heartbroken under the widowed tree,
not once,
not twice,
but in a sad number of thirty three.

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