...

sow this garden, of
hurt, and
distrust, of
love, only
sometimes, now
reap this garden, not
long, from
now, full
of misery, and
self fulfilling,
prophecies.

...

the pain is all wrapped up,
in the past,
there is no room here,
now in your embrace.

half-truths and half-lies,
hurt more,
tomorrow, when questioned
they are merely truths and lies.

claimed trust, and
professed love, mean more
when intoxicated, one hopes
to alway remain.