My Ex

my ex
My ex,asks of me ,
To tell my replacement,
In a language of roses and sunsets,
How warm her love is,
When I am in hell,
Whilst we were almost in heaven.

Look at her!
Covered in honey,
Little does he know,
About how,
Her heart prisons,
A million souls.
If he would ask of me,
To define her,
I would say,
Over the speakers,
That she is betrayal,
And made of death.
That she haves,
A thousand cemeteries,
For breakfast,
Everyday,
And still yearns, for more.

©Eeth