The Gamble Of Love

By Sarah Khan

Perhaps love comes be handed with discontent-acy.

A pang of anger shot in me, when he meets her in secrecy.

Dishonest as always he confessed his love for me.

Like every nights i fed myself with a ray of hope, it has to be.

Morbid as it is, love instills within my core.

Yet i crave for a long lost love i never was meant for.

He smiled a smile that blooms everyone but me.

As he is an artist but i am a sculptor, why can't he see?

He holds me in his captive of contemplation for days and nights.

It grants no joy, no sorrow but only makes me fright.

Is it to quench his thirst or a single liability untouched.

I never drown in the plethora of pleasure, when he makes love, as i found my soul but blood and mottled.

Ohh i breathe when he is near.

But she, she lives, it makes me fear.

I distaste the love i have for him.

Yet he saviors every inch of my aura with great torment it seem.

I sigh more, more than i breathe.

My heart aches, more than it beats.

By Sarah Khan