She

You all know the "other girl" all the guys love and leave their good ladies for? This is she - poetically.

She's not the type 

to stick around until you fall apart;

she's only here long enough to steal your heart.

With crimson nails, she plucks it from your chest,

her fingers stained permanently red.

 

She's not the girl

on who's shoulder you'll cry,

but maybe she'll linger in your eyes,

just past the point of view of where she disappears,

be careful, she'll lose you in her fears.

 

She's not the kind of person

to tell you those three words,

but she'll make you swear them to her

for all she's worth,

and when she goes, you'll try to follow

but you'll trip and stumble.

 

She tied your shoes together long ago.

The End

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