Mon amour, she used to call me, with her perfumed accent.
She won my fantasies for years, driving smiles and tranquility into my confused world.
I killed our dreams.
I had no excuses, humans are so disconnected, molded with betrayal and deception.
I did not understand my actions, letting go of my fruit garden and starving for temptation from the street.
Mon amour, you used to call me, and I walked away turning my back. I laid with the homeless wanting peace, but the pain and the unkindness craved my gray skin with their blades.
I kept on walking barefooted. My routes were so empty and very rough.
My life became an illustration of sweat, blood, and tears.

Artwork unknown