The little life I have left now,

Something that is theft, that's how,

No one should know the secret vow,

The one I did in his cove.

For a while he did love,

For a while I was the smile of,

For a while I fled like a  dove,

Free and happy in his bove.

That's the life I got. 

Something that's not bought,

The time I got, just borrowed,

From the endless time she hovered.

Oh! Not borrowed, stolen is the word,

For she doesn't know of this unheard,

Nor will she ever, so was the treaty buried,

And that's all my life, just absurd.

Regardless of what I was to him,

A rebound, just a deed of time,

Nothing but a shoulder for the grim,

Something to lighten the dim.

It was the only life I lived, 

The rest what I pretend in pride,

Because I were deprived, 

And I may even put it as contrived.

And now with the stolen life to outlive,

All the time she derive,

And then to finally arrive,

At a place where I shall revive.

Sometimes I wonder why so,

And why his heart doesn't know,

And then I get the reminder in a blow,

I am nothing but a stolen show!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quote:

  "Hearts are breakable," Isabelle said. "And I think even when you heal, you're never what you were before"."  - Cassandra Clare, The city of Fallen Angels.

Written by a stolen past.

~Chaahat