(Mariam)the woman I love for him

confussion and confession

O Mariam,

Now there was a woman with something you never see everyday;

a warm woman,

crying tears of snow,

How cold was her lover's soul?

To treat her for a show? how broken is she to never let go?

Was her heart that frozen to him?

Regardless of how many times he scattered her across the floor?

Like ashes of someone he does not even know.

O Mariam, my longed love,

How much more should your wrists redden your hands,

with the paint from beneath your aging flesh.

Surely he is not making you madly in love,

But mad from love.

But you wont leave,

because you say I am not good enough.

Yet here you are in my arms, defending him.

What does it make him, when he is hurting you like this?

What does it make you, Mariam?

When you keep hurting the woman I love for him.