There are many things that you can take
Which don’t belong to you
Possessions and choices, just to name a few.
Some do it and claim to be the victims themselves
All while hiding what they took high upon a shelf.
Little did they think of the rippling effect
How they stole trust, creating quite a debt
Others are left feeling they matter little so
Carrying this feeling, everywhere they go.
There are moral boundaries, back and forth they cross
Caring little of the pain or of another’s loss
Your flame for them dims, like sun setting on a lake
Blown are your illusions, like candles on a cake.
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This is really good.
Reads like a prologue to the broken crayon poem.