Dancing with the scars

Dressed in red with a golden tie,
slick and handsome with a smile so wry,
Walks in, my partner with slick gaiety,
His name is, no surprises- Mr. Anxiety!

He grabs me tightly, by the waist,
Knots my insides, twirls me with haste,
And spins me repeatedly, to and fro,
Instead of pulling me inward, he lets go!

He extends his hand in a gentlemanly way,
when I give him my hand, he pulls away.
My spirit is hurt but not entirely broken,
I extend my hand to him, - a friendly token.

He takes my hand, with a mocking grin,
turns me once, then draws me in.
His grip is so tight, I begin to choke.
He doesn’t care. He’s an indifferent bloke.

From his grasp, I try to break free,
But he won’t let me go so willingly.
He twists my arms, forces me into a sweat,
I am now filled with gnawing regret.

Why did I choose a partner so vile?
Who paralyzes my insides with his dreary smile,
Who twists me into a pitiable heap,
Who makes me wallow, wail and weep.

My spirit is now completely broken,
He hands me his number - a friendly token.
Every time things go in a rather great way,
I give him a call and he takes it all away.




Image credit: Musings by Laura Bock

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