Beware of the wolf
Dressed in the sheep skin
Secretly full of sin
A storm brewing behind honey enriched bloodied words
Drawing you in.
The warnings I should have seen.
It’s never easy to walk away,
when you’re tangled in the aftermath of promises and emotions—
Babag dispatched hurried notes saying you were bad news years ago,
but I believed in the world you said you’d give me.
You spoke of love, of time – and your promises to commit to both.
Once more declared and renewed in a crowded pub only weeks ago.
The Whethers of this land a stormy place.
A heady concoction of cheap alcohol and cigarettes.
And again, misery grew in the shadows you cast.
You’ve made me hate this town,
every street echoing with your absence, with false promises
and the sounds of your howls.
Now seventy two months of memories – laughter and tears.
Every clock ticking with your lateness—
I could list all the occasions you showed up on time,
But the page would be blank.
With no apologies.
A hedonistic sadistic relationship
Transforms into a friendship of longing
Of asking for the bare minimum.
The physical bruises now emotional ones.
Stained across my heart, brain and nervous system.
With no apologies.
Cheated on and laughed at for my ‘paranoia’.
With no apologies.
Five years of birthdays and Christmases – stood up.
Never receiving a present – not even a card.
Yet you freely give and gave to others – whilst taking from me.
With no apologies.
No flowers but five years of dates that I paid for.
Rarely a message to ask how I was or how my day was going.
But 25 messages in 20 minutes when you wanted to come
Over to drink and indulge in sybaritic pursuits.
With no apologies.
Communication lacking – hours turning to days, weeks or months.
Chasing replies and clarity.
Chats archived.
Anger, blame and twists, when I bring up issues.
Being called crazy.
With no apologies.
Mental health spiralling.
Tears, anxiety, darkness, betrayal, hurt.
Emotions strong and chaotic.
Wanting out – to escape the pain.
Forever.
I apologise weekly.
But now – I finally see, it isn’t me.
It’s you.
It’s your pack of lies.
Your selfishness.
I’ve wished for 5 years that I could be the one to fix your shit.
But now I know.
It’s your shit to fix.
To the next soul drawn in by his honeyed words
Heed this warning;
He is the wolf – howling at the moon
The storm – leaving wreckages and chaos behind
Leaving a trail of destruction of broken branches
and broken hearts.
With no apologies.
I survived the wolf – his long drawn out attack.
And I share my experience
With no apologies.
Quixotically Perfect 