Havisham He’s a bastard! And as I stare through the prison bars that are my eye lids, I imagine stabbing the dessert knife in to the three tiered wedding cake; the mocking reminder of my failure to make him mine. But oh! How I love him. The sockets that encase green stones stare at the broken mirror; fragments of my heart solidified in to shards of glass. Prick my finger it bites, but draws no blood. Wonder why? But how has he left me? A spinster? A mad women in her attic? Mad? The cunt! In bed I claw the walls so my nails peel back; the tears come freely, like the words of a compulsive liar. His lies! His lies twisted like the slicker of a serpents tongue as they found their way in to my mouth; the electric tenacity of his touch, tantalising all pores so I fell seduced and willing in to his arms. That was where the slicker became a whisper, and after giving myself to him, so raw and bursting was my soul for him, I promised myself to him. But where was his promise? And how am I left? A tainted whore in a stained white dress, while the smiling hypocrite shimmy’s his rattle, a warning sign I failed to see, because I was so infatuated by his stare, that my inhibitions froze while my body allowed him to wrap his fingers around me one by one. But God were his fingers gentle as they explored by body; a land discovered for the first time, every crevice a new wonder. He reached into parts of me I had never before endeavoured to understand, with ease; a cave that throbbed from the silvery kiss of water as it waited for the cracks to explode and flood. I belonged to him and he to I. It was meant to be. It was…destiny. Destiny to be fucked over by a lying prick! Left standing at an alter with an embarrassed priest, a concerned hubbub and an honour in tatters. My heart burst. Serve me his honour on a platter with skewers either side and his body on a cold slab that can be our marital bed. So I can stand over him as my heart b-b-breaks.