Pieces

Out in the world and all alone

Lives a woman of flesh and bone

Her reputation precedes the steps she takes

And many hurt for the decisions she makes

She’s tall and fair but wise and cruel.

She’ll take the smartest of men and make them her fool.

She takes souls, they say, and shreds them to pieces.

She offers no reprieve; their pain never ceases.

And they’ll spend all their lives wandering aimlessly

Always coming back for more pain, what a pity

Searching for the home they found in her arms

She’ll love them and leave them, causing more harm.

They call her the collector of hearts, for she leaves a trail of tears in her midst.

And all who meet her can’t help but want to taste the poison from her lips.

They yearn to place their tongue inside her, where her lies of spun gold flow free.

They strive to run their hands on her flesh, where even kings have wished to be.

And upon her touch, within her taste, the truth they do not know,

Is that when they pull their hands away, with them, parts of her will go.

Each tainted touch corrupts her soul, each kiss a broken promise.

Each one who loves will eventually go, and her love will be amiss.

The pain will consume each part of her, a smile plastered on her face.

The pain will be collected, a hurt she can’t erase.

You see they call her the collector of hearts, but it’s not hearts she collects, it’s pieces.

Memories will remain in each, and they invade her like diseases.

And the pieces of hearts she collects, they are, but her own.

For no one has ever truly returned, the love for which she sold her soul.

The blood that drips around her spews freely from her veins.

And the trail of tears behind her are tears flowing from her pain.

And the hearts she collects, she is fully entitled to.

For it’s the pieces that she gave to those she loved, like you.