Erin: A Lost Cause Poem by rhiannon fisher

The story turned sour in her outstretched palms.
An illusion.
Broken promises stain her cheeks-massaging the stressed tension of a pregnant belly
Frogs never become the idealized prince, just the main course in a beggar's meal.

Friction of divisive sorrow clings to progressive intentions.
She knows there is strength in her spoiled heart, but love's madness has kept her a passer-by; the trail overgrown by detached agony.

Alone she sits...
Contemplating the amount of time her eyes have spent molesting the torn ligaments of suspended hope.

How many lovers have perished digging their own graves for the passion of a thousand daimond-backed smiles?
Laughter that remains scathed by the mining facilities in which they're extracted.

Convulsing in rhythmic tyranny
His lyrical transgressions have become but a white noise
Retreating glances echoing through desolate brainwaves

Captured: the vulnerability becoming a torturous affair
Selective memories erupt, battlefield-style, coaxing deadened nerves to revive a fair trade anecdote.
But deciphering the mass of bloodied dreams has her lost in the uprise
The worded symphonies have turned into a death march

At his convenience, his cyanide lips cover her skin in hostile kisses
Creating the force of a triggered relapse
Slow-beating hearts make poisonous decisions, only to wake in the arms of your last regret

Her survival is a treasured pasttime
...and traditions die hard