She started to speak to herself because she was the only one who would
Listen to what she had to say. She wondered how he could ever think that the
Way he was treating her was all right. And then she despaired because she realised
That she let him do it to her repeatedly, that her attraction to him had been so blinding
And forgiving that he excelled in abusing her desire to be with him no matter what he
Would do to her, ask of her. Interaction, no matter how tarnished, sufficed.
And he threw her into the rotten arms of his friends and she lied to herself
That she is polyamorous, that this is their relationship, that their world is open
And filled with love and passion. Never would he think of her. Never did he wake up
With an urge to see her face, to see her smile. He needed her when he wanted a quick fix.
And she would be abandoned and recalled, in endless circles, the heat never persisted.
She fell so deeply into his careless schemes her own name sounded false to her.
“Portrait of an unknown woman in a red dress with a fur-trimmed wrap” by unidentified painter
Croque-Melpomene 