By: Linda M. Crate

the pale of the moon fading into night that
was our love,
and you just let it go
blow away
like some fog resting on the heartbeat
of the lake;
you were not the man you told me you were—
but that’s okay because
no one’s perfect,
and i know now you never loved me
you’ll never admit it
but i don’t think you know what those words
mean or what your heart is meant
for;
you are just a boy
masquerading as a man—
torn and broken
i thought you were jack and i’d be sally and together
we’d sew one another back together,
but you were the corpse bride’s
husband-to-be;
you stole from me things i can never get back
so i hope my bones haunt you
like hers did him—
i hope the butterflies make you remember the innocence
you tore away from me because we all reap
what we sow,
and one day you will feel all the misery
you’ve inflicted upon me and all the other girls you tore
to pieces in the eyes of your never ending
lust
more foreboding than an angry moon
or livid sun.