Mutant

I carry sculptures of the lovers upon my lips.
Like a looping song inside my head whose penultimate lines I cannot recall.
Like writing on the wall.

No one could mend me when they really tried.
I changed when they opted to go and I let them.
They thought I was cold like a serpent.

I’m not proud to being abandoned.
I’m proud to still have some love left in me.
People often claimed to have kissed more than just me, when they kissed me.

But I was never really like this.

I carry sculptures of the lovers upon my lips.
Like arrow or gun-shot wounds I bear like a soldier.
Like a prisoner of the war.

I let them go even when I wanted them to stay.
I wrote poems when my vocal cords betrayed.
They thought I was cold like a serpent.
They were never into poems.

And I was never really like this.

I feared to be abandoned.
So, I abandoned them all.

.

Written for Photo Challenge #263 @ MLMM

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– Christo Dagorov
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