She stole a march

– Such a foolish thing to do:
To help a brazen whore
And tend her damaged heart
Believing in the words she said;
To try and try and try again
To give her what she wanted,
Then work to pay her bills
And feel that kindness mattered.

– And worse. Forgetting that:
All giving flowed one way,
Fine words are gone once spoken,
And night still falls in spring;
The good guys don’t always win –
Her game, her rules, her referee –
Blinded eyes do not see straight
Nor penetrate the veil;

So we may never know the other
Nor shall ourselves be known.


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